Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project
by Clandestine Novelist
Summary: In his seventh year, Draco must take some desperate (but necessary) actions in order to become his own Dark Lord. Story started before Blaise Zabini's true gender was announced.
1. Chapter One

**Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project**

* * *

Disclaimer: Now really. If I owned Harry Potter do you think I'd be writing _this_? I'd be off counting my millions, or better yet, writing my sixth book!

* * *

Draco Malfoy was angry.  
  
Perhaps angry wasn't the right word.  
  
Draco Malfoy was truculent.  
  
Better.  
  
He glared down at the letter he'd received from his father. Nine blithering pages long and all that it said was that as Draco was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, he needed to pay attention to his future. Lucius Malfoy therefore ordered his son to attend the Voldemort Youth meetings at Hogwarts.  
  
Also known as the Slytherin Pride Club.  
  
Honestly, Albus Dumbledore may be considered the greatest wizard of the age, but he had a definite tendency towards letting the forces of evil permeate his school.  
  
Slytherin Pride Club, indeed.  
  
A weekly gathering of cunning, ambitious purebloods? That's just asking for covert evil meetings and Machiavellian plans.  
  
To say that Draco Malfoy loathed the Voldemort Youth would be an exorbitant understatement. There was not a word in the English language to describe his hatred of it. Someone must have squealed on him. He'd been skiving off for quite some time, and why not? He'd been attending those meetings for years and not one bit of good had come out of them. Voldemort was vastly overrated, besides.  
  
How often could Draco sing the praises of one who was not even a pureblood himself without going totally and completely mad?  
  
The man was defeated by a baby! Children regularly foiled his evil plans!  
  
And then there was the matter of the Dark Mark. Come now. A huge mark across your forearm that clearly shows that you're a Death Eater? Wicked inconspicuous, that. Any person with half a brain cell would realize that all it would take would be a glance at the arm and they'd all be caught and thrown into Azkaban. Really, the man called himself a Slytherin? How about some adroitness?!  
  
How much longer could Draco stomach the Voldemort Pledge?:  
  
"I pledge allegiance to Lord Voldemort The most pureblooded wizard in the world. And to totalitarianism, for which he stands, All nations, under evil, Broken and shattered, With horror and homicide for all."  
  
It was enough to make you sick.  
  
Oh, horror and homicide were fine. They were two things that Draco quite liked. But Voldemort? A total pansy, to tell the truth. It was time for the famous Malfoy action. No longer would Draco Malfoy blindly follow the current popular Dark Lord. He was breaking away from it and making a name for himself.  
  
Lord Draco sounded quite nice.  
  
Master Draco sounded even better.  
  
He thoroughly fancied becoming the next big thing in Evil Overlords.  
  
But this required planning. Careful plotting and scheming would be essential to his breakthrough. If he were to one day be called He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named, he'd have to make Voldemort look like Mother Theresa.  
  
First things first. No Dark Lord ever had the support of his father. It was a long and glorious tradition. Look at Grindelwald and Voldemort! Both killed off their fathers! Now, Draco was not disapproving of murder. Murder was an excellent way of offing people. But it lacked subtlety and Draco needed subtlety.  
  
No, the way to go was disownment.  
  
His eyes were drawn to a ruckus at the Gryffindor table. Seamus Finnigan was being pounded into the floor by Theodore Nott. Draco was delighted. What an excellent way to be entertained at breakfast! It couldn't last, of course—Professor McGonagall, spoiler of fun as she was, ran over and pulled Nott away, taking fifty points from Slytherin as she went. Draco glanced toward the giant hourglasses that kept track of House points and saw that the Slytherins were now down to negative forty-two points. It must be a record.  
  
Slytherins weren't bad folks, really. They were just incredibly misunderstood. You could even argue that they were a sweet bunch. Why, look, there were Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent giggling innocently over a scrap of paper hidden in the back of a textbook. Draco craned his neck to look. Oh. It was a list of ways to kidnap and torture Harry Potter. Still.  
  
Something at the back of Draco's mind was ringing an alarm bell. He was overlooking something important. He bit his lip and glanced up at the ceiling, thinking hard. No less than ten Slytherin girls fell off their chairs in fits of rapture. He buried his head in his hands. Normally, fainting girls were excellent for the ego, but he had no time for them today. At least not at the moment. He had to concentrate! His future as an evil dictator was at stake!  
  
He glanced back over at Seamus Finnigan, who was now nursing numerous injuries. Draco could almost hear an audible click as something fell into place. That was it! Infiltrate the Gryffindors!  
  
It was brilliant. It accomplished at least two major things: he'd get to know his enemy while simultaneously infuriating his father. With brains like his, Draco Malfoy would have done well in Ravenclaw. He was a genius.  
  
As he began masterminding his plan, his eyes caught sight of three of his least favorite people in the world: The Gryffindor Dream Team. Harry Potter, their ringleader, was currently reading the newspaper, running a hand sleepily through his hair. Draco sneered. Potter's baggy clothes and untidy hair made him seem like more of a tatterdemalion than a hero. Really, had the boy never heard of a brush? Had he ever learned the rules of proper grooming? And then there were his sidekicks: Ron Weasley whose grooming was just as bad, if not worse than Potter's, and Hermione Granger, who may have had the worst hair of the lot.  
  
No wonder those three were friends—people with bad hair must gravitate toward each other.  
  
Not that Draco could talk. His hair was impeccable, naturally, but those friends of his, Crabbe and Goyle, were the poster children for why a good barber was essential.  
  
Pawns, Draco amended. They are pawns, not friends.  
  
Glaring once more at his archenemy and said archenemy's hangers-on, Draco felt a flutter of worry in his stomach. The Trio could be his downfall. Draco might have been able to break into the Gryffindor ranks by his charm and wit, but those three could ruin it all. Draco would need to rely on his secret weapon: his almost inhuman good looks. There were rumors about him being part Veela, but none of them were true. Say what you would about the Black Family—that they produced such monstrosities as Sirius, Andromeda, and Alphard or that they were (gasp) related to the Weasleys—but they were definitely a good-looking lot. The way into the Gryffindors was through a female, Draco knew. A hapless Gryffindor girl could put his plan into action.  
  
Draco studied his reflection in his spoon. He gave it a winning smile and an impish wink. If it could have, it would've swooned.  
  
"Why," came Blaise Zabini's voice, "are you hitting on your utensils, Draco?"  
  
Draco's head snapped up. Blaise was smirking at him, a smirk oddly reminiscent of his own. He'd taught her well.  
  
Draco glared at her, but his heart wasn't in it. He rather liked Blaise, really. The other Houses were a bit confused about her gender, but it was all quite simple: she was a girl except on leap years. And he thought the Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart. Know-it-all Granger didn't even have it figured out.  
  
"I wasn't hitting on my spoon," grumbled Draco. "Though even inanimate objects must succumb to the Malfoy charm."  
  
"Oh yes, I'm sure they do," said Blaise, rolling her eyes as she went back to her list.  
  
Apparently Draco didn't have a monopoly on Slytherin sarcasm. He simply did not have time for Blaise and her irascibility at the moment, as he had more important things to think about. Like how in the world he was going to get into the Gryffindors' good books.  
  
He tried to think of the best way to go about this business. Emboldened by the simpering girls now smiling at him and batting their eyelashes so hard you'd think a gale would start whipping through the Great Hall, Draco made eye contact with the first Gryffindor girl he saw. Lavender Brown fainted dead away into her porridge.  
  
Draco smirked and headed toward his first class. This may be easier than he'd originally anticipated.

* * *

Though Draco was quite intelligent if he did say so himself, classes did not go well that day. His mind lacked the discipline to concentrate on much else but his Plan. He must have seemed glazed and faraway because Blaise finally snapped at him.  
  
"Was there a Memory Charm gone awry or are you just mentally aberrant?" she yelled when they were back in the common room.  
  
"Keep it up, Blaise," he said through gritted teeth, though a feeling of irrational and unwelcome pride was seeping through him. The girl was bantering almost as well as he did! "You're on a one-way track towards a quick Avada Kedavra."  
  
Blaise laughed cruelly. "Oh, poor, sweet Draco. You really think that anyone here is afraid of you? We've all seen you in your cozy little dragon pajamas. That ruins any chance of intimidation you had, dear."  
  
Malfoys didn't blush, Draco prided himself with that, though he was certain a rosy tint was creeping into his cheeks. He glanced at the mirror across the room to check. No one knew who had put it up, though Draco suspected Snape. For someone with such hideous hygiene, the man seemed to think quite a lot of himself. Draco could have sworn he heard the mirror sigh as he looked into it. A slight flush was actually quite a fetching look, he thought. Giving Blaise his best Snape glare, he stomped up to his dormitory. He heard her cackling madly back in the common room—no Slytherin was really afraid of Snape, either. That mirror thing could lose him credibility even faster than the Billowing Charm he'd placed on his robes to scare first years.  
  
Draco yanked the door to his dormitory open and sunk into his bed after pulling the curtains shut. _Think_, he prodded his mind, _think about the Gryffindors_. Draco was immediately distracted by the fact that he was thinking willingly about his sworn enemies. In a way that didn't directly involve their torture. He hoped that this disownment plan didn't make him go soft.  
  
_You're forgetting the Plan_, he scolded himself. Gryffindor girls... The girl had to be a Muggleborn, and he'd need someone close enough to Potter that he could try to (he shuddered involuntarily at the thought) at least turn their relationship into something resembling civility. The obvious choice was Hermione Granger—friends with Scarface and a mudblood to boot! But it wouldn't ever happen: if the slap on the face in third year meant anything, the girl hated him passionately. It would take far too much unnecessary work to get friendly with Granger. Same with that Weasley brat—Ginny, or something. The one who had very funnily opened the Chamber of Secrets back in Draco's second year. She may be pureblood, but she was dirt poor. Lucius Malfoy would have a heart attack at the very thought. But again, she was the sister of Potter's best friend, and still too close.  
  
The trouble, Draco found, was locating a girl who was a friend of Potter's, but not an extremely close one. Parvati Patil would be Draco's ideal selection—she was something to look at, anyway—but she wasn't a Muggleborn and she was wealthy. Besides the Gryffindor factor, Lucius might even approve of her. Draco struggled to come up with the perfect candidate when he remembered breakfast that morning. That was it! Lavender Brown would be his way in! She was a mudblood and a Gryffindor. That, at least, was enough to be disinherited. It could possibly even include Lucius dying of shock. Either way, Draco was set. But then, as they often do, the doubting thoughts swept upon him.  
  
One thing stood out very clearly. Draco's plan could leave him ostracized from the Slytherins. Instead of being the Slytherin Prince, he'd be the Slytherin Pariah! He needed a man on the inside to help him. Someone to assure the Slytherins that Draco wasn't going all righteous on them. He needed someone especially shrewd and cunning. Someone who had the rest of the Slytherins sitting in their hand. He needed...  
  
"Blaise, I need to talk to you."  
  
Draco found himself groveling at Blaise's chair. This was not right. Malfoys didn't grovel. Right then. Draco stood up tall, back straight, and ordered Blaise to accompany him to the statue of Salazar Slytherin that took up an obscene amount of space in the common room. Blaise probably wouldn't have followed his command if she wasn't in such a ridiculously happy mood. Something about timeturners, potions, and a very unlucky Hufflepuff. Draco didn't want details.  
  
"Blaise Zabini, you are the first to hear the spectacular, ingenious plan of Draco Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"And he's so humble, too," said Blaise, rolling her eyes. She was going to seriously hurt herself if she kept it up.  
  
Draco told her about his crafty plan, expecting her to be overcome by his excellence.  
  
"Draco Malfoy, you are even more of an idiot than I could have imagined."  
  
OK, that was not what he had predicted.  
  
"_Why_?" said Draco. "Why don't you think it's wonderful?" He wasn't whining. Malfoys didn't whine.  
  
"One," said Blaise, ticking her fingers as she went, "it will require a lot of luck. You are a Slytherin, you should realize when something's impossible. Two, you'll be right under Harry Potter's nose. He'll kill you in a second in the name of all that is light and holy. Three, you have to assume that Lavender Brown even likes you."  
  
Draco laughed. "She's a girl. Of course she likes me. Mere eye contact and the girl collapsed headfirst into her breakfast. Just think about it, Blaise. If we succeed, we will be right in the middle of the Gryffindors. We can wreak havoc! We can cause mayhem! We can use our Slytherin ambition to rise to the very top! We can make the name of Gryffindor dirt!"  
  
Blaise considered him carefully, biting her lip.  
  
"All right, I'll help."  
  
"Blaise, I could kiss you!"  
  
"Please don't."  
  
"So when I become an Evil Overlord does that mean that you'll be one of my loyal subjects who do my bidding?"  
  
Blaise snorted. "Of course not."  
  
"Then why are you helping?"  
  
She sighed. "I'm just following the basic rule of Slytherin."  
  
Draco's brow furrowed. "You mean 'When in doubt, send evil killing snakes upon your contemporaries'?"  
  
"No!" said Blaise, exasperated. "Help your fellow Slytherins because everyone else is against you!"  
  
Draco sighed bitterly. "They all think we're depraved, amoral prats."  
  
"I know!" said Blaise, throwing an impatient hand in the air. "A House for flourishing evil. OK, so we do things like cozy up to Umbridge to get some power. So we cheat at Quidditch. That doesn't make us bad people!"  
  
"Well, the basilisk thing might..."  
  
"I thought you wanted to be a Dark Lord!"  
  
"I do!"  
  
"So stop thinking like a Gryffindor!"  
  
Draco gasped, a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Blaise Zabini! You really do."  
  
"I thought for a minute that Harry Potter had sneaked into the Slytherin dorms under Polyjuice Potion."  
  
Draco cringed. "First you call me a Gryffindor, and then you call me Harry Potter. And then you insinuate that Potter would be intelligent enough to get into the Slytherin common room disguised with Polyjuice! You are a shame to the name of Slytherin!"  
  
Blaise tapped her foot impatiently. "Stop fussing Draco, it's unbecoming. Let's not forget that you will, in fact, have to start thinking like a Gryffindor if you're ever going to fool them."  
  
He grimaced. "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea."  
  
Blaise looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Now you're talking like a Hufflepuff."  
  
"You've gone too far, woman!" yelled Draco. "Why don't you call me Neville Longbottom and be done with it! Let's get to work on deceiving the Gryffindors."


	2. Chapter Two

**Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project**  
Chapter Two

* * *

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

* * *

"I'm bored."

Blaise and Draco were currently working on Stage Two of Step One—or as Blaise called it, 'the spying on the Gryffies part.' While it was an entirely accurate term, Draco thought the name lacked stealth.

"Shut up, you agreed to this."

"Yeah, well I didn't plan on spending hours watching the stupid Gryffindors eating and doing homework."

Draco would never admit that he, too, was getting weary of watching Harry Potter and his groupies go about their daily lives. Malfoys didn't ever back down from an Evil Plot. It was one of their golden rules. But Blaise was right: the Gryffindors were an incredibly monotonous bunch. He wanted danger! Intrigue! Cat fights! Crying! Angst! The Gryffindors got along much too well, in his opinion. That was their problem—they didn't have enough excitement in their lives outside of their 'save-the-world' urges. The Slytherins by contrast hardly let an hour go by without a showdown, or at the very least a good House drama. It was good for character—it kept you on your toes.

"Can we go now?" Blaise whined. "I'm hungry and uncomfortable and have spent more than a day's quota of time with you."

"Shh!" hissed Draco, swatting her arm and ducking away as she thrashed back. They had been crouching behind a bookcase for an hour, watching a group of Gryffindors working on what looked like N.E.W.T. Potions homework. Ron Weasley, The-Bumbling-Oaf-Who-By-Some-Act-of-God-Made-It-Into-An- Advanced-Potions-Course, was looking close to tears, anyway.

"Is there a point to all of this, really?" asked Blaise, that irritating, patronizing look in her eyes.

"Yes, there is, now hush!" spat Draco.

Harry Potter's head jerked up in an abrupt motion and he looked around cautiously, as if he had just heard something. The boy really was too vigilant for his own good—he must have taken that idiot Moody's words to heart. Draco thoroughly disliked that Moody character, especially now. While the whole bouncing ferret thing was enough for Draco to hate the man for life, the impostor had also been integral in bringing that idiot Voldemort back, thus cueing his father to once more pick up his Death Eater robes and bring Draco along for the ride. In fact, you could even go as for as to say that part of this whole Disownment Project was Impostor Moody's fault! If it was not for having to return to those ridiculous Voldemort Youth meetings, Draco may have been able to keep his sanity (and his inheritance).

He breathed a sigh of relief as Potter's messy head returned to his homework before he rounded on Blaise.

"Did you see that?" Draco snarled as quietly as he could manage. "If you keep complaining you could give us away!"

"And it isn't possible that it was your shushing that startled Potter?"

Draco cursed the day he asked Blaise for help. He cursed her parents for not drowning her when they had the chance. And most of all he cursed Blaise herself for being the solitary Slytherin who would be a good accomplice: it was just his luck that she also came complete with the ability to match him intellectually.

_Stupid Blaise_, he thought savagely. _Stupid Blaise and her stupid observation skills_.

Though perhaps cursing Blaise's perceptiveness was not a smart thing—she had, after all, been the one to find out that Lavender Brown had a boyfriend. Granted, she hadn't been able to figure out who the mysterious boy was, and Draco had faith enough in his exquisite good looks that he could get past this particular predicament no matter who he turned out to be. But knowledge was power, nevertheless.

"Come on, I'm through with this," said Blaise suddenly, grabbing Draco's arm below the elbow and dragging him forcibly from their hiding spot.

He started and gave a surprised shout, alerting everyone to their presence and earning himself a reprimand from that petulant old hag Madam Pince. The Gryffindors looked up as one, alarmed at the noise. Their startled looks turned quickly into scornful frowns of disdain as they saw who it was who had interrupted them.

"I told you, Draco," said Blaise loudly. "We need to get a note so we can use the Restricted Section, we're just never going to find it here."

The Gryffindors all seemed pacified, if disgruntled, by this and returned to their work, a few making acrimonious remarks about 'inconsiderate and boorish Slytherins.' Draco wanted desperately to retort, but decided it wasn't worth it. They were all ignoring him now, anyway; all except that obnoxious meddler Potter, who looked at them with an eyebrow raised.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" asked Blaise impatiently.

"Nothing," muttered Potter, giving them one more scrutinizing look before bending his irritatingly rumpled head back over his books.

"Nice going, Blaise," spat Draco once they had left the library. "Way to be crafty. Are you a Slytherin or not?"

"Please, they didn't suspect a thing."

"Potter knows something is up! You don't know him like I do! He'll be suspicious from now on!"

Draco wondered if he sounded paranoid to her ears, too.

Blaise made an impatient sound. "You're getting hysterical. Honestly, you give him too much credit. Let's go back to the common room."

Draco muttered darkly under his breath as they headed toward the dungeons, ignoring the exasperated noises and eye rolling now issuing from Blaise. They gave the password and entered the room, sitting down in an isolated spot as not to be overheard.

"So what have we learned so far?" said Draco, leaning back in his armchair with his arms behind his head. He gave a satisfied smirk at the girls pushing each other to get a better view.

"Uh... that Potter eats an unhealthy amount of treacle tart, Weasley has trouble in Potions, and Granger is an insufferable busybody."

"Nothing we couldn't already have guessed," Draco sighed. "Though watching Weasley struggle with Potions was quite amusing."

"Yeah, I almost felt sorry for the prat. It made me want to go over and help him."  
  
Draco gaped at her.

"Condescendingly, of course," Blaise added.

Draco bent down to look at their field notes on the Gryffindors, his hair flopping into his eyes. He pushed it back to the audible sighs now emanating from the girls in the room.

"The only useful thing we've got here is Lavender's boyfriend! And even that can be avoided!"

"Aren't we awfully confident in our wooing abilities."

"Blaise," said Draco smugly. "Look at me. I'm Draco Malfoy! Lavender's boyfriend could be Gilderoy Lockhart and he still wouldn't have anything on me."

Blaise snorted and rolled her eyes. "Such a demure, modest boy."

"You can strain your eyes that way, you know," said Draco. Blaise rolled her eyes once more for good measure. He decided to ignore her.

"We don't even know who her boyfriend is," she said. "For all we know it could be Potter himself. And I know you think you are God's gift to women, and they seem to buy it, for some inexplicable reason that I fail to comprehend, but Potter may be the one guy you couldn't steal a girl from."

"Please. Women love men with good hair. I could steal his girlfriend in a millisecond."

"Do me a favor and shut up for once, Malfoy," she said testily. "Whatever the rest of the female population thinks, I know that you are just an obnoxious little pain with a pretty face. Why couldn't you focus on that Weasley kid? The Chamber of Secrets girl? She doesn't have a boyfriend, and she obviously has a thing for aspiring Dark Lords. You could sidle up to her and we'd have less of a problem."

"Blaise! She's impoverished and I have standards."

Blaise stared at him. "Are you telling me that you're not taking an easier target because she hasn't got _money_?"

"She put the Bat Bogey Hex on me!"

Blaise sniggered. "You are incredible, Draco, you really are."

"And—ugh! If hypothetically I did target the brat, I would probably be getting twelve singing valentines a day and I absolutely could not endure that. Just imagine it: 'His hair is as blonde as a beautiful Veela's, his eyes are as gray as a storm. Ha ha, he's all mine, the boy is divine, Draco Malfoy, the world's next big Dark Lord.' "

"Now you're just singing your own praises. And 'storm' doesn't rhyme with 'lord.' "

Draco was feeling slightly humiliated. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway, as she obviously considers me a sworn enemy! And she's Potter's best friend's sister. That's too close!"

Blaise contemplated this. "I still think you're stupid."

"What else is new?"

"Well, we'll think more about it tomorrow. Today was pretty much fruitless."

"Why do I have the feeling that this is going to be more trouble than it should be?"

* * *

The next day found Draco and Blaise spying on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This served no real purpose but to allow Draco ample opportunity to take notes on their technique. He thought he was being sneaky and duplicitous until Blaise pointed out that she knew exactly what he was doing. He really was starting to tire of that girl. 

Blaise, on the other hand, was for the most part ignoring him. She did not even pretend to be interested in Draco's commentary of the practice session. She was lying flat on her back in the grass, gazing up at the clouds and occasionally yelling, "Mute the blathering, Malfoy!"

Draco was conflicted—in some ways, a non-communicative Blaise was an improvement, but a lot of him missed their bantering sessions.

"How did your old man get out of Azkaban, anyway?" asked Blaise some time later. She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. Draco's eyes narrowed as he thought of the abhorrent bane that he called a father.

"I'm not sure, he didn't tell me details. 'All in good time, Draco. You'll learn when you're ready, Draco.' I think The-Man-Who-Let-The-Boy- Live had to break him out, but then what do I know?"

"Not much."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Yeah, I caught that. Very clever."

They fell back into silence as Draco scribbled notes about Potter's Seeking style.

"This is utterly useless," she said finally.

"It is not! Potter has a slow left swerve! I can beat him to the Snitch in the next Gryffindor-Slytherin game by utilizing his weaknesses!"

"I meant that spying on their practice is a useless way to garner information."

Draco felt a tad bit stupid. "Shut up, Blaise."

She rolled over onto her stomach, grabbing her wand from her pocket, and began shooting curses at innocent ants. Draco was rather impressed that after ten minutes she still had not repeated a spell. Who would have ever thought to use Tarantallegra on insects? He found it all quite amusing. Blaise, however, seemed to be getting bored of her little game, and quickly progressed to harder, and consequently more illegal, spells.

"Imperio!"

Blaise's current victim was making its way up Draco's leg. He decided to ignore it. Blaise forced it up Draco's arm. He remembered violently that he was timorous of things with too many legs. Draco liked to think that this fear stemmed from too many classes with that imbecile Hagrid and the monsters he mistook for 'precious, harmless animals,' but he was determined not to let Blaise find out.

_It's just an ant_, he lectured himself. _A sweet little ant_. _It's not hurting anybody. In fact, it's crawling on me so it has probably already fallen in love. Cute little thing_.

It was at this point that Blaise made it crawl up his nostril.

Draco did something very shameful and unMalfoy-like. He screamed.

Blaise roared with laughter at the sight of Draco hopping to his feet, doing a sort of manic jig as he tried to remove the bug from his nose.

"Blaise Edwina Edward Zabini!" he bellowed. "What in the name of all that is dark were you thinking?"

"Ooh, middle names, too!" Blaise gasped. "I'm quaking now! Is ickle Draky- poo afraid of the little pesky ant?"

"You sound like that idiot friend of my father's when you talk like that," Draco grumbled, sitting back down with as much dignity as he could muster. "That Lestrange woman. She does that baby talk thing too. It's really not very becoming."

Blaise laughed harder. Draco faded into tenebrous muttering as he went back to watching the Gryffindors. How was it that stupid Potter could control a dive that well without crashing his broom and killing himself? _Because there is simply no justice in the world_, Draco thought.

"How much longer until I can leave?" asked Blaise.

"When I say you're permitted to go."  
  
"And I answer to you now, do I?"

"If you are helping in this plan, then I am your boss."

Blaise sighed. "I really don't know why I put up with your egocentricity."

"It's because deep down you know that I am a brilliant and gorgeous specimen of man and you can't help but fall under my spell."

"Oh yes, that must be it," she said with an eye roll.

"I really wish you'd stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Rolling your eyes."

Blaise grinned maliciously. Draco felt apprehensive, then irked that he was feeling wary of Blaise.

"So you mean that eye rolling gets on your nerves?"  
  
"Yes," he said, regretting his answer immediately.

"So you mean when I do this—" she rolled her eyes several times in rapid succession, "—it bothers you?"

"Yes," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Then I shall keep doing it."

Draco felt the urge to smack her until her eyes fell out.

"If you keep doing it, then I shall hex you into next year."

"Watch me as I cower and shudder with uncontrollable dread."

"Oh, shut up."

Draco was reviewing his notes on Potter's performance when the sound of giggling reached his ears. Now, Draco was quite the expert on giggling. He knew each individual giggle of every girl in Slytherin house. When you received so many sappy compliments, you learned to distinguish one from another. This was most definitely not a Slytherin giggle, yet something about it was familiar, important...

He looked up and saw Lavender Brown walking hand in hand with Seamus Finnigan.

"Emergency! Emergency!" yelled Draco, jumping to his feet. "Subject is approaching the area, I repeat, subject is approaching the area! Proceed to battle stations immediately!"

He hopped (very gracefully, he thought) behind a convenient bush to observe his target.

"I think we've solved the mystery of Lavender Brown's boyfriend," said Blaise, standing up calmly and dusting the grass off her robes.

"What are you doing you idiot girl?" squawked Draco. "Get to your battle station!"

Blaise rolled her eyes heavenward and seemed to be praying for patience.

"Where would my battle station be, oh glorious leader?"

"Blaise, do you not remember the seventh rule of the Disownment Project? Concealment is the key to success when it comes to spying effectively! You are not concealed, you fool!"

"I am sorry, your greatness. Please do not hurt me. I will never do it again."

"Do you find that your sarcasm arouses a feeling of vexation in you, as it does me, or do you enjoy it?"

"I most definitely enjoy it."

"I figured as much. Get behind this shrub, you half-wit!"

She languidly hid herself behind the bush. Her dawdling was an obvious attempt to harass Draco and it had its desired effect. Draco grabbed the back of her robes to pull her out of sight faster.

A look of repugnance distorted his usually lovely features as he watched Lavender twitter moronically at something Seamus had said.

_And to think that foolish Irishmen had helped me come up with my Plan_, thought Draco bitterly. _Now he is hindering it by dating the one Gryffindor girl I need to worm my way into their ranks_.

"Well," he said to Blaise, "at least now I know that I won't have any problem whisking Lavender away from her sweetheart. Finnigan is not even near my level. The only Gryffindor below him is Longbottom!"

"Maybe Lavender won't like your pomposity. Maybe she wants a pure, virtuous, Gryffindor-personified boyfriend."

"The girl's an airhead, Zabini," said Draco scornfully. "She sees me and knows only that I am beautiful. That's all she cares about." "

She deserves you, then," Blaise snarled, not quite low enough. Once again, Draco decided overlooking it was best.

He wasn't sure how much more of Blaise Zabini he was willing and able to take.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews of chapter one! You all made my day. :) 


	3. Chapter Three

**Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project**  
Chapter Three

* * *

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

* * *

Blaise was really starting to get on Draco's nerves.  
  
It obviously wasn't bad enough that she thoroughly ridiculed him at every possible chance. No, apparently her very pestering habit of naming his strategies was going to plague him as well. The worst thing was that Draco was beginning to call his strategies by Blaise's names! Homicide was looking better and better.  
  
Draco's current stage of planning was dubbed Strategic Maneuverings. Blaise had christened it 'Stealing Seamus's Girlfriend.' With her nonexistent subtlety, Blaise could possibly become a liability.  
  
The two of them had stopped tracking the Dream Team and had instead refocused their energies on Seamus and Lavender. They had followed the lovebirds everywhere, Draco becoming increasingly revolted by the couple; Blaise only found them amusing. Lavender was a ceaseless giggler and Seamus, as far as he could tell, was a useless lump—Draco had given him too much credit before; Longbottom was good for a derisive laugh, but Seamus was truly good for nothing. Unless you counted being a Slytherin Punching Bag. Draco really needed to go bribe Thomas Nott to put on another show.  
  
And so they spied. They followed the two Gryffindors to meals and observed them on dates. They surveyed their studying in the library and they watched them in their leisure time. Blaise had even managed to uncover their class schedules, so they tracked them to their classes, as well. The latter really did no good to anybody—Draco and Blaise were unfortunate onlookers as Seamus presented Lavender with a terrible love ballad on the way to Herbology, and oftentimes following the Gryffindors resulted in their being frightfully late for class. After one such time, McGonagall scolded them severely, scheduled their detentions, and took twenty points from Slytherin. If there was a House Cup rewarded for least amount of points, the Slytherins were the sure winners.  
  
"You know," said Blaise one day as they headed toward Potions, pushing a strand of hair out of her face, "what we're doing is technically stalking."  
  
"So when the going gets illegal, you get craven?  
  
"Hello, I'm a Slytherin. Saving one's own neck is a Slytherin's bound duty. And I'm only pointing out facts. But then, I suppose the Malfoys are used to being called criminals."  
  
"Coming from the girl who recently used the Imperius Curse."  
  
She shrugged. "Hey, Moody only ever said it was illegal to use on _humans_. He didn't say anything about insects."  
  
"Don't mention that man around me."  
  
Blaise smiled beatifically. "Aww, is poor little Draco's pride still aching?"  
  
"I should own stock in the words 'Shut up, Blaise.' I use them often enough."  
  
She continued grinning serenely as they walked to the dungeons. Her composure irritated him. How could that girl keep her infuriating equanimity at all times? Their bickering, which never ceased to fluster Draco, seemed to fuel Blaise. She apparently lived for altercation and she was unfairly proficient at it. It was enough to make you jealous, if not completely hostile.  
  
"Are you still smarting about the ant thing?" asked Blaise.  
  
"No, I am not," said Draco succinctly.  
  
"Oh, my mistake, sorry," said Blaise airily, throwing her hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. She had made it her mission in life to roll her eyes as much as humanly possible.  
  
They entered the Potions classroom in strained silence, Blaise making strange, huffy noises as she took her seat.  
  
N.E.W.T. Potions classes were rather uninhabited, for lack of a better word. Even with students from all four Houses in attendance, it was not even close to being full. Many, perhaps, did not have the grades enough to be admitted into the class, though Draco had a shrewd suspicion that most people simply did not want to be in the vicinity of Snape anymore, now that it was not required. The class consisted of mostly Ravenclaws and the smarter Slytherins. A few Gryffindors, like the execrable Dream Team, had put their renowned bravery into use and signed up for N.E.W.T. level Potions. There was but a single Hufflepuff in the class.  
  
You couldn't be surprised by the lack of their loyal and hard-working brethren. Most of them weren't the least bit loyal or hard-working when it came to Potions. Yet, it was the matter of the Gryffindors that puzzled him. Snape had always been the most vicious to them—why would they put themselves through such torture? Besides, Draco desperately wanted to find out why that inept Weasley found himself in an advanced class. It was conceivable that Granger and Potter had helped him, because he surely couldn't have made it on his own. If he'd ever made an acceptable potion, Draco would give up hair gel, renounce flirting, and live a life of poverty. He didn't have more time to dwell on the mystery of Weasley's presence, however, as the Potions Master himself had walked to the front of the classroom.  
  
Draco didn't mind Snape. He was sadistic enough, and with a good washing he might have even been admirable. Sure, the Billowing Charms and the mirror made him a little bit of a laughingstock, but overall he wasn't a bad chap. Of course, his father had always spoken highly of Snape, which could lower anyone down a peg. His father's favorable opinion of Snape had definitely reduced Draco's own, until he and Blaise had gotten off track yesterday following the Gryffindors and overheard a most intriguing conversation.  
  
"_Where are you going_?" Blaise had hissed at him, pulling and almost tearing his brand-new silk robes. Draco whipped around, his wand drawn.  
  
"Don't manhandle my robes, Zabini! They were made by the finest clothiers in all of China!"  
  
"Really, Draco, stop thinking that I care about your wardrobe," she said, and Draco turned away before he could watch the imminent eye roll. "That lunatic Lavender and the equally moronic waste of space she calls a boyfriend just went downstairs."  
  
"Do you think I don't know that Blaise?" asked Draco, condescendingly. He had not, in fact, noticed. "This is a shortcut."  
  
"Oh stop lying, you lost track of them."  
  
"I did not."  
  
"You are an appalling prevaricator."  
  
"I am not."  
  
"'Prevaricator' means 'liar.' "  
  
"I knew that!" He hadn't.  
  
"Shut up!" she said quietly, once again grabbing his robes unceremoniously and dragging him behind one of the grotesquely ugly statues that dotted the Hogwarts corridors. Honestly, they should let him become Headmaster. The things he could do with the décor, not to mention the uniforms...  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
"Blaise, I've told you before! You cannot roughhouse with these robes! It is crepe de Chine, just so you know you unfashionable girl, and it mars so easily!"  
  
"Would you close your mouth for once and listen?"  
  
"No, Ms. Zabini, I will not. I am adding a touch of refinement to these hideous uniforms by experimenting with classier textures. You must respect the silk, because if you break it, you buy it!"  
  
She sneered. "You tiresome popinjay, quit yammering on about your stupid silk and listen!"  
  
She pointed surreptitiously to a point somewhere beyond the sculpture. Draco peeked stealthily around to spot Snape talking intently with the Headmaster."  
  
"It's Snape! He's talking with Dumbledore!"  
  
"Yes, I know," said Blaise flatly. "I, unlike some people, believe in the power of auditory and optical awareness."  
  
"And you make an excellent spy and sidekick, my dear."  
  
She clapped her hand over his mouth quite roughly. He was about to complain about the indignity of this action—he didn't lovingly apply skin care potions just for idiot girls to stick their foul hands all over his face—but Blaise silenced him with a glare and nodded slightly toward the conversation taking place between the two professors.  
  
"The Dark Lord has called for a secret meeting in two night's time, sir," said Snape in a soft voice. "I think he is unveiling his latest plans for slaying Potter."  
  
"And you'll be in attendance?" asked Dumbledore, his ancient head bowed close to Snape's greasy one.  
  
"Of course. Shall I get ready to make a report for the Order?"  
  
"Yes, please. Are you sure that he still knows nothing of your deception?"  
  
"Quite sure."  
  
"Good. I'll look forward to your report, Severus."  
  
Blaise seized Draco's wrist and drew him back down the corridor they'd come from.  
  
"Now really," said Draco, removing her fingers from his robes and scowling at her, "enough is enough! I've asked you kindly to respect the delicate nature of my garments! Refrain from touching them again, madam!"  
  
Even when he wasn't looking at her, he could sense her eyes rolling.  
  
"Be careful, Blaise, love," he said. "Your eyes are fragile, treat them with care."  
  
"Did you not hear what they just said?" she asked incredulously.  
  
Draco had been quite preoccupied with checking his robes, but he didn't want her to know that. She sighed in an affected sort of way.  
  
"Snape is spying on the Dark Lord! He's making reports for Dumbledore!"  
  
Draco said nothing.  
  
"Aren't you surprised by this?!"  
  
"Are you meaning to tell me that those idiots talked about Snape being a double agent in a very open school hallway? Those do-gooders really need a crash course on finesse."  
  
Blaise stomped off, clearly rankled.  
  
"What?" asked Draco, hurrying to catch up. "What did I do now?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," she said sarcastically.  
  
"Then why are you in a snit?"  
  
"Because," she barked, twisting around to berate him, "we just found out something that could be useful! Snape's against the Dark Lord! _You_ are _renouncing_ the Dark Lord! Do you understand now, or must I spell it out for you?"  
  
The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. "_Ohh_..." he said, "I get it. I can go to Snape if I get into trouble! Good work, Agent Zabini."  
  
"Is it just me, or are you getting stupider?"  
  
"I resent that," he said, slightly hurt by her tongue-lashing.  
  
"All you ever do is go on and on about how much of a genius you are, and how Granger has nothing on you. Well prove it!"  
  
"It's all this hanging around Lavender," Draco said, the odd need to redeem himself becoming pressing. "It can really lower one's intelligence quotient."  
  
"Yours can be lowered?" she said, though the anger had left her voice.  
  
"That Snape thing really is something, though, eh?" Draco asked, slinging an arm around her shoulder.  
  
"Careful, Malfoy, I'm touching the 'crepe de Chine' again."  
  
"Oh, right," he said, removing his arm. "Don't roll your eyes."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"But back to Snape—I bet my father doesn't know about that. He's always inviting him over for lunch at the Manor. Our house elves have to positively _scour_ anything that came in contact with his hair."  
  
Blaise laughed. "So all the Malfoys have an obsession with cleanliness?"  
  
"Cleanliness is godliness, my dear Blaise."  
  
Draco was interrupted from his reverie by a hard kick to the shins. He looked, startled, at Blaise, whose eyes were wide. She jerked her head slightly toward the front of the classroom, where Snape was looking at him expectantly.  
  
"Er..." said Draco, bemused.  
  
"Clearly," said Snape softly, "you were not paying attention, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff."  
  
The Slytherins sniggered as the other Houses gaped indignantly at Snape.  
  
"But sir," said Anthony Goldstein, rising slightly from his seat, "that's not fair, we didn't—"  
  
"Ah," said Snape, his thin mouth curling into a sneer, "it is exactly what you didn't do that lost you points. I didn't see any of you trying to make Mr. Malfoy concentrate."  
  
"But the Slytherins weren't doing anything, either!" said Ron Weasley loudly.  
  
"Are you questioning me, Weasley?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
Draco leaned back in his chair and smirked at the expressions that now rested upon each non-Slytherin face. Snape had a wonderful sort of malice. It wasn't evil, necessarily, which was Draco's specialty. It was merely unjust and prejudiced and, consequently, very entertaining.  
  
"Now as I was saying," said Snape, his robes swirling as he spun around to once again sit at his desk, "I will be splitting you up into pairs to brew your potion today. Weasley and Parkinson."  
  
Draco smothered a snort at the sight of Weasley's face. Pansy's was quite enjoyable as well. They marched to the front of the class to collect the written instructions from Snape, then returned to their seats.  
  
"Malfoy and Zabini."  
  
Draco felt relieved that he would not be partnering a Gryffindor, or worse, the lone Hufflepuff, but immediately remembered that he was still working with Blaise. He sighed as they walked to receive their directions from Snape, then sat waiting as he divided the rest of the class. To his disappointment, Potter wasn't paired with anyone undesirable. He had actually made out quite well with Padma Patil, who was an excellent potion maker. Well, you couldn't have everything.  
  
"You will have exactly a half an hour to properly brew your potion," said Snape, surveying them from his desk. "Begin."  
  
Blaise and Draco got to work directly, laying out their ingredients mutely as they scanned the guidelines. Draco didn't think the potion would be that hard. It wasn't one of Snape's typically impossible ones. Perhaps he was cutting back and centralizing his efforts on his forthcoming spying mission against Voldemort.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" Blaise whispered, turning to face Draco. He raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"About what?" he asked.  
  
"Snape!"  
  
"What about him?"  
  
Blaise slowly and deliberately rolled her eyes. Avada Kedavra was really too good for her. He was going to snap one of these days and use the Cruciatus Curse.  
  
"He's opposing the Dark Lord! Should we approach him? Tell him that you, too, are repudiating? Get him on your side?"  
  
"No!" Draco said, upset. "Not yet!  
  
"And why not? What is there to lose?"  
  
Draco gawked at her. "Timing, Blaise! Timing is essential! I must first establish a connection with the Gryffindors!"  
  
She gave him a long, appraising look. "Whatever you say, Oh Wise One."  
  
"Don't start being sarcastic again," groaned Draco. "I can't stand you when you go into Insufferable Prat Mode."  
  
"Zabini, Malfoy," came Snape's voice. "Since your flirtatious banter is so fascinating, why not share it with the class?"  
  
Draco muttered incomprehensibly as he feigned being absorbed in his notes, but Blaise seemed only to find it comical.  
  
"Now really, sir," she said loudly, "you insult me. My standards are not that low. I happen to like a different sort of person." She glanced at Potter, working at the table over, and fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly at him. Draco wondered vaguely if Potter's eyes could go wider. He blushed a deep scarlet that would make Weasley proud, and turned back to Padma Patil, clearly attempting to lead them all to believe that he was deeply engrossed in his work.  
  
"As entertaining as it is to put Potter on the spot, Ms. Zabini," drawled Snape, "I do believe you should be helping Mr. Malfoy with your work."  
  
"Of course, sir," she said. "Draco does need all the help he can get, and I certainly don't want my grade to plummet. No more taunting Potter."  
  
She gave Potter a sly, roguish wink before turning again to their cauldron.  
  
Draco remained silent for the rest of the class, relieved that Blaise didn't try to start a conversation. They mixed ingredients until their potion had turned a clear, bright blue, then began to wash up. Snape made his way around the class, clipboard in hand, grading them on their efficiency.  
  
"Tut, tut," he said, standing over the cauldron Granger was sharing with Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Even the distinguished Hermione Granger has her off days. Poor."  
  
The Slytherins sniggered loudly. Granger buried her head in her arms, as Weasley glared murderously at Snape. Snape, on the other hand, did not seem to notice this as he walked closer to check Weasley and Pansy's potion.  
  
"Ms. Parkinson, I know working with Weasley cannot be considered desirable conditions, but I expected better from you. Poor."  
  
Draco felt an abrupt thrill of anticipation as Snape approached.  
  
"Well, at least Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Zabini have retained their elementary Potions abilities. Outstanding."  
  
Draco smirked as Snape stalked toward Potter and Patil. He was annoyed to see that the two of them had managed to brew a potion that was just as good as, if not better than his own.  
  
Snape stared down at their cauldron for a very long time before muttering "Acceptable."  
  
Padma Patil closed her textbook with a loud slam, and began packing away her things while whispering what Draco imagined were horrible insults to Snape. Potter remained silent, his teeth clenched and his face reddening with suppressed rage. Draco's smirk widened into a full evil grin. You could always count on Snape.  
  
The class walked single-file out of the class, the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs breaking into incensed exclamations as soon as Snape was out of hearing range.  
  
"Harry and I had the best potion in the class!" Padma said angrily. "Snape is a asinine, biased, bigoted, imbecilic, erroneous, ugly, greasy slimeball—"  
  
She trailed off, still grumbling furiously. There were several comments of "Know-it-all Ravenclaw" from the Slytherins. Draco thought that they said it only because they didn't know some of the words Padma used.  
  
"Hey, look Draco," said Blaise, whispering in his ear. "There's your sweetheart."  
  
She grabbed his hand and led him away from the pack of students still snarling about Snape. Draco had just opened his mouth to protest when he found himself face-to-face with Lavender Brown.

* * *


	4. Chapter Four

**

* * *

**

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project  
Chapter Four

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Lavender's eyes widened as she realized just who she was staring at. Beside her, her best friend Parvati Patil gazed open-mouthed at Draco, her schoolbag hanging limply from her hand. They didn't seem to have noticed Blaise, though that was all right, as Draco was aware of her enough for all of them. What exactly was that girl thinking?! Draco needed to _plan_ what he was going to say to Lavender. He needed time to carefully prepare a suave, sophisticated, and yet outwardly unrehearsed conversation to be presented to the one girl integral to the success of his Project. And what did that imbecile he called an accomplice do? She went ahead, disregarding all previous plans, and dragged him off without practice to talk to said essential girl.  
  
Blaise nudged Draco roughly. He glared at her, his mind spinning. What was he going to _do_? He couldn't mess this up! He was going to_ kill_ Blaise!  
  
"Well," said Blaise loudly and emphatically, "I'll see you at lunch, Draco. Bye!"  
  
She gave an uncharacteristically sweet smile to Lavender and Parvati before hissing "Get going!" under her breath to Draco.  
  
Her words seemed to jerk him out of his stupor. This wasn't a problem! He was Draco Malfoy, Girl Magnet and Ladies' Man of the First Order, for Merlin's sake! The famous Malfoy Charm went into autopilot as he gave the two Gryffindor girls his best dashing grin. Parvati had to grab Lavender and hold her up as her knees gave way. Draco smiled wider.  
  
"What class are you two lovely ladies coming from?" he asked jauntily, casually yet deliberately allowing a strand of his platinum blonde hair to fall alluringly into his eyes. Thank God for Gilderoy Lockhart's Hair Bleaching Potions! Mix that with the finest French shampoo money could buy, and Draco was the indisputable leader of good hair in Hogwarts. Parvati worked extra hard to keep them both standing now that her knees had gone weak as well. She was giving Draco a look that in some inexplicable way conveyed both reverence for his looks and loathing of him as a whole. He decided he didn't mind. Lavender was sighing stupidly.  
  
"We've just come from Divination," she said dreamily, gazing at Draco with adoration. Why had he been worried? He had her eating out of the palm of his hand!  
  
"Ah, Divination," said Draco fondly, despite the fact that he had never attended the class. "What a wonderful subject."  
  
"Have you ever taken it?" asked Parvati, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Have I ever taken it?!" said Draco, putting a hand to his heart and grimacing in a mortally wounded sort of way. "Is the sky blue? Am I the most handsome Slytherin Seeker to ever grace these stone hallways? Of course I've taken Divination!"  
  
"I never knew that," said Parvati, mildly impressed.  
  
_Never knew what?_ Draco wondered. _That I took Divination or that I'm the handsomest Slytherin Seeker ever? Must be the former, as the latter is simply undeniable.  
_  
"So what did you study today, Lavender?" he asked, turning back to her. She was now able to stand on her own, though she still looked rather wobbly.  
  
"Uh... er... bird entrails..." she said vaguely, still grinning at him like a fool.  
  
"See anything interesting?"  
  
"Ooh!" Parvati squealed, then whispered something frantically to her friend. They both giggled like maniacs as Draco beamed indulgently at them.  
  
"I take it that's a yes?" he said, his cheeks feeling as if they were strained from the effort of smiling so much.  
  
"Oh, definitely a yes," said Lavender breathlessly.  
  
"I always fancied palmistry myself," he said airily. He was pulling this stuff out from the back of his head—his mother was a big fan of Divination and was always going on about whatever foolish thing she had 'Seen' in her crystal ball.  
  
"Oh, palmistry is one of my favorites!" said Lavender.  
  
"_No_!" said Draco, faking astonishment. "Are you serious?"  
  
"It's great! But the crystal ball is the best, no question."  
  
"Oh yeah, it's spectacular. Some days I just like to sit in my room and gaze into the crystal ball for hours. It's incredibly relaxing."  
  
Draco really hoped Parvati and Lavender wouldn't go gossiping about his 'love' for this nonsense. He wouldn't be able to show his face in this school again, and just think about how awful that would be for all his female admirers!  
  
"So do I!" Lavender squealed. "It's so cool that you like it, too! Most guys don't. None of the Gryffindor boys do."  
  
_Then they are smarter than I gave them credit for_, Draco thought.  
  
"Have you ever tried seeing the outcome of a Quidditch match?" Draco asked suddenly, on a surge of inspiration. "Only the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match is coming up... did you see me catching the Snitch or anything?"  
  
She giggled. "But haven't _you_ tried to find out the result? When you're gazing in your room?"  
  
Draco nodded, trying to seem sage. "Yes, I have tried, but I find that I See best when I'm not trying to see my own future."  
  
"Wow," said Lavender. "That's so smart. I think I read about that somewhere. You know, that it's best not to try to predict your own future. That it's kind of like seeing death omens and things... you can start obsessing about what's to come."  
  
Draco had no clue what she was talking about, and faking it could only get him so far before he incriminated himself. Better to change the subject now that he was ahead.  
  
"Say, Lavender," he said, sweeping his hand through his hair, "would you like to get together sometime to study Divination?"  
  
Lavender seemed to be overcome with rapture. For awhile Draco thought she'd been left speechless by the shock. When she regained her voice, she reacted very loudly.  
  
"Of course!" she said with a scream.  
  
"Does tonight sound good?" he asked, suppressing the mad urges to either cover his ears or cackle.  
  
"Sounds wonderful," breathed Lavender, hugging her books tightly.  
  
Parvati somehow managed to look in awe and troubled at the same time. Draco wondered where she had picked up the skill of communicating two different emotions at once.  
  
"You love Seamus," she reminded Lavender in a whisper.  
  
"Who?" asked Lavender, still gaping ardently at Draco. "Oh—him. I mean, yes, I love Seamus. Oh, _no_!"  
  
Her eyes had gone wide with horror.  
  
"I'm sorry Draco, I have to go meet Seamus for a moonlit walk."  
  
She made it sound as if it was the most boring chore in the world.  
  
"Some other time then?" asked Draco, trying courageously not to sound desperate. Malfoys were never desperate.  
  
"Sure," said Lavender. "I mean—" she added hurriedly after a look from Parvati, "—I can't, I already have a boyfriend, Draco."  
  
"It doesn't have to be a date," he said quickly. "It could just be two friends practicing their favorite class together."  
  
Lavender seemed convinced. Parvati, however, pulled her into a huddled, whispered conference. Lavender emerged, looking despondent.  
  
"It just wouldn't be right," she said dolefully.  
  
"Ah, I see," said Draco valiantly, his heart sinking. "All right then. I'll see you two around."  
  
He turned dejectedly from Lavender and Parvati, feeling slightly ashamed that he was heartened by Parvati's murmur of "_Draco_? Since when do you call him _Draco_?"  
  
How had things gone wrong? Everything had been progressing swimmingly before that absolute imp Parvati had brought Seamus into the picture. Stupid noble Gryffindors. A girl from any other House would have dropped a boyfriend in an instant for a study date with Draco Malfoy. Trust the Gryffindors to have _morals_.  
  
Draco sauntered into the Great Hall, already milling with students, and made his way to the Slytherin table. He pretended not to hear Crabbe and Goyle's calls of "Draco! Over here!" and instead slumped into a seat next to Blaise.  
  
"How'd it go?" she asked without looking at him, taking a bite of her sandwich. When he didn't respond, she glanced at him questioningly. "What? What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
Draco let out a deep, world-weary breath. It was abashing to have to admit failure, especially to Blaise. "I forgot that Gryffindors have ethics."  
  
Blaise made a face. "Did you mess this up? Please tell me you didn't do anything stupid. Oh, I _knew_ I should have stayed to supervise. What did you say to her?"  
  
"I only asked her if she'd like to study with me!"  
  
"But I thought that you were taking it slowly. I thought that you didn't want to put the moves on her quite so quickly."  
  
"I didn't!" said Draco defensively. This was all her fault. Why was she trying to put the blame on him? "You surprised me by dragging me over there, and I got flustered. All previous plans shot straight out of the window and now I'm in this mess."  
  
Blaise chewed thoughtfully. Draco thought she looked as if she was trying to stifle an eye roll. He was oddly touched by this possible sympathy. How very unlike her. "Well, I thought that by just springing it on you like that it would be more genuine," she said. "I was worried about you sounding too smarmy with a prepared speech. You've got a tendency toward doing that, you know. And no matter what you say, girls just don't like it when you're unctuous. The only reason it worked with Pansy is because, well, she's the same way. "  
  
"You did this because you thought it would help?"  
  
Blaise nodded.  
  
"I find you fascinating," said Draco, looking at her with mystification.  
  
"I find you unattractive," Blaise said genially, taking another large bite from her sandwich.  
  
Draco was honestly taken aback. Perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly. "You what?"  
  
"Find you unattractive," Blaise repeated nonchalantly, stealing Pansy's apple pastry while her back was turned. "I mean, you're good-looking, I suppose, but you're not the type I go for."  
  
Draco felt a strange sense of relief. "Oh good, because I thought you meant ugly."  
  
"Well, you're a bit washed out."  
  
"I AM NOT!"  
  
"Draco," she said, much as if she were placating an irritable toddler, "you're blonde, grey-eyed, and pale. You have no color."  
  
Draco looked at her, pouting slightly. "You like midgets."  
  
Blaise laughed. "Harry Potter, you mean?"  
  
He glowered in what he hoped was a menacing way. "Yes."  
  
Blaise smirked irritatingly. "I was just messing around."  
  
"_He's_ pale."  
  
"He has dark hair and bright eyes. He has color."  
  
"You like color?"  
  
"I like color."  
  
Draco considered this. "So, strictly speaking, if I dyed my hair you'd find me attractive."  
  
"Possibly."  
  
"I wouldn't have to get glasses and cut my head open would I?"  
  
Blaise smiled. It wasn't one of her cynically amused smiles, either. She seemed, and this was an odd thing, sincere. "Honestly, I don't like Potter. And I think you'd look better if you didn't use so much hair gel."  
  
Draco felt scandalized. "I would not go that far just so you'd think me attractive."  
  
"You're such a _dandy_. Why do you care so much about your hair?"  
  
"Because that's what I do." Honestly, he had his reputation for having the best head of hair in school to uphold!  
  
"I think you should give up French shampoo," said Blaise, opening up a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Where did such a dainty girl put it all?  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's like saying that I should give up air."  
  
"You really are too much."  
  
"Thanks, doll."  
  
"Bean?" she asked, offering him one that was an awful greenish color.  
  
"No thanks," he said, picking at his own lunch. "Really, though, what was that thing with Potter about today?"  
  
"It was just a joke," she said, aiming carefully, then throwing a bean in the direction of the Gryffindors. It hit Potter squarely in the back of the head. He whipped around angrily to see who had tossed it. Blaise waved coyly at him as he reddened and turned back to his food.  
  
"You're paying an awful lot attention to him. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting."  
  
Blaise stared at him, her mouth twitching.  
  
"You've spent your entire time at Hogwarts doing the same thing! Have _you_ been flirting with Potter?"  
  
"Of course not," said Draco.  
  
"Then why accuse me?"  
  
"You seemed awfully chummy with him in Potions."  
  
"It's called 'provoking,' Malfoy. I think you know a thing or two about it."  
  
"I don't wink at the enemy."  
  
Blaise rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'm going to tear your eyes out of their sockets if you keep doing that!" he yelled. "How would you like that, huh?"  
  
"I probably couldn't wink at Potter anymore," she said disinterestedly.  
  
"Ah ha!" Draco said. "So it's flirting with my opponent that's most important to you!"  
  
"I thought your opponent was your father. Or the Dark Lord. I'm not making eyes at _them_."  
  
Draco cringed. "Bad mental picture, Blaise. But if you weren't hitting on Potter, what were you doing?"  
  
"I've already told you," she said, exasperated. "I was just trying to make him feel uncomfortable. It also irritated you, which is a plus. But it also had the unforeseen disadvantage of you getting territorial."  
  
"I am not getting territorial."  
  
"Then why are you so upset about it?"  
  
Draco pondered this. Why _was_ he getting so disconcerted?  
  
"You could do better than Potter," he said finally.  
  
Blaise laughed. "Well, thanks, I guess. I think all this time trying to spy on the Gryffindors has addled your brains. You sound just like Weasley."  
  
"Blaise, I just gave you a compliment. Why must you offend me so?"  
  
"Well, you did, you sounded like him."  
  
"I have never in my life sounded like a ninny."  
  
"That's debatable."  
  
"I'm not speaking to you anymore."  
  
Blaise grinned. "Wow, you promise?"  
  
"I can't believe that in my time of need you compared me to a Weasley."  
  
"I thought you were being kind of cute in a protective-older-brother way."  
  
"Don't try to kiss up to me now. The damage is done."  
  
Blaise snickered and smacked the back of his head. "Quit playing the role."  
  
"Watch it!" he shouted, frenetically smoothing his hair.  
  
She seemed to be silently pleading for restraint. "Sorry, I forgot. So now what are you going to do? About Lavender, I mean?"  
  
"Well, Blaise, I'd think that would be evident."  
  
"Of course it is. I just asked for my health, that's all."  
  
"Sarcasm is never becoming, my dear."  
  
"Funny, you always said you looked your best while being sarcastic."  
  
Draco patted her back consolingly. "Sadly, you do not possess my angelic features, which look otherworldly in any expression."  
  
"Yes, that's probably it," she said. "Are you stalling?"  
  
"Why would you think that?"  
  
"Because usually you are only too eager to share your self-proclaimed precocity."  
  
"If you must know, I am not even the slightest bit deterred. I will keep moving! As far as I'm concerned, the problem of Gryffindor nobility is of no consequence. I'm Draco Malfoy! With patience and persistence, it's only a matter of time before Lavender sees the light!"

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews!!

* * *


	5. Chapter Five

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project  
Chapter Five

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Despite what Draco had said to Blaise, he was, in fact, feeling the immense pressure of impending failure. He would never admit it willingly, even under the threat of Unforgivable Curses, that he was extremely rattled by Lavender's refusal.  
  
He tried to go through the rest of his day normally, attempting in earnest to put forth his normal, casually indifferent façade. Thankfully, he had no more classes with Blaise that day. She had always been able to see through his mask of unconcern, a fact that vexed him to no end.  
  
Draco spent his least prolific hour in Arithmancy ever, in which Granger gave him dirty looks and Professor Vector handed out detention like Snape on stimulants. He was rather disappointed, as Arithmancy was usually one of his favorite classes, but he could not possibly bully his mind into behaving and he hadn't managed to evade a detention, either. It was with a slightly heavy heart, therefore, that he left the class and walked morosely to the Owlery to send a letter home to his mother.  
  
Draco found his eagle owl in the corner of the Owlery, removed some parchment and a quill from the pocket of his velvet robes, and hastily scribbled a note to his mother. He restricted himself to strictly neutral and innocent subjects—the weather they had been having at Hogwarts ('It's been dreadful, mummy, all rainy and grey, but there is always the promise of sun on the horizon'), the new robes she had just sent him ('What a marvelous shade of blue! They accent my eyes perfectly and the fabric is absolutely heavenly. Send Madam Malkin my regards.'), what he'd had for supper ('I ate a most scrumptious stew the other day—though it couldn't possibly hold a candle to one of your delightful recipes!'). His dear mum was a bit of a worrier and she wasn't above nagging, so Draco tried his best to discourage all potential prying by stuffing his notes home with loads of information about how well he was living here at school. Hyperbole, all of it, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He was often amazed by how quickly he could fill five long-winded pages without really saying anything. He closed with a request for a boxful of sweets ('The next Hogsmeade trip is a month away and I'd really love a nice snack to have while I'm studying!), then tied the letter to his owl's leg and watched as it flew off.  
  
He lingered for a bit, amusing himself slightly by spooking random owls in the room. If anything could lift his spirits, it was the prospect of candy from home and passing the time by tormenting the innocents. As he poked an old barn old with his wand, he felt his mood slowly rising from the depths of despair and depression to vaguely melancholy. Seemingly from out of nowhere, and taking Draco by complete surprise, a snowy white owl swooped down and raked the top of his head with its talons.  
  
"OW!" Draco screamed, his hand flying to his head to check for blood and to smooth down any stray hairs that the beastly owl may have kicked up. "You stupid, bloody bird! What is with you monsters!? First that hippogriff in third year, now this! Is every feathered creature in this place trying to kill me!?"  
  
The owl made an angry sort of noise and glared down at him, her large amber eyes full of bird-like scorn. It figured that Harry Potter's owl, for who else owned a snowy owl than that sissy boy, would be just as self-righteous as her owner.  
  
He stomped out of the Owlery, muttering darkly about Gryffindor tendencies popping up in the birdlife at Hogwarts. He made his way huffily down the stairs where he shoved a Hufflepuff second year into a broom closet and locked him in, then stalked into the library to grab a few books for his homework. Draco gathered several books for Potions and Charms, then spent ten minutes searching the place for what he would really need. He finally found it in the very back, close to the restricted section. It was a very large, well-worn, dusty old thing that had helped many a Hogwarts graduate pass their Arithmancy N.E.W.T., and it was currently just out of reach of a very short Ravenclaw with curly hair. He reached up under the pretense of helping her, and she turned around to thank him. When she saw just who it was who had aided her, however, her smile of thanks turned into a scowl.  
  
"Why, thank you Malfoy," she said with a sneer, her hand outstretched expectantly. "So you do have a heart. How touching."  
  
Draco smirked. "It's not for you, you silly little swot," he said, loving the way her eyes narrowed in thinly-veiled dislike. "I have a test to pass this year, and quite frankly, that is all that matters. Next time, may I suggest a footstool? Ta, now!"  
  
He turned on his heel and walked serenely to the checkout table as he listened delightedly at the remarks now emanating from the girl. He grabbed a collection of biographies of Dark Lords of the last few centuries on a whim, and handed his selections over to Madam Pince. He gave her a jaunty smile, perfectly showing every last one of his sparkling white teeth. She merely narrowed her eyes at him. A man with less self-confidence than Draco Malfoy may have thought he was losing his touch. Draco merely comforted himself with the knowledge that Pince, like Granger, was too in love with books to notice any mere mortal boy, despite how ravishing his good looks were. Personally, he didn't know how they did it. If he were a girl, he would be all over him.  
  
He was forcibly reminded of his terrible mood when he exited the library and caught sight of Lavender Brown, moving in a giggling pack and not noticing him. He quickly headed toward the Slytherin common rooms before that particularly situation could be rectified. As his surroundings grew progressively gloomier, his frame of mind followed suit. The dungeons really were a horrible place to live. So cold, dark, and drab. Draco could do simply magical things with the ornamentation if only he had the chance. He may even let Blaise help. She seemed to like color, after all. And regardless of what he had previously said to the contrary, the girl really wasn't too bad of a dresser. She was not anywhere near his level, but who was, really, and the Bohemian look really was somewhat appropriate for her. Draco, of course, was fond of the elitist look, but to each his own.  
  
He eventually reached the Slytherin common rooms, gave the password, and rushed up to his dormitory without a word to anyone. He threw his books carelessly onto his bedside table, knocking over most of his hair products in the process. He executed a perfect swan dive to land precisely on the center of his bed, carried out an agile somersault to top it off, and in one smooth motion he closed the curtains and flipped himself onto his back to stare unseeingly at the top of the canopy. He gave himself a perfect ten for performance before settling back into grief. He had a date with dolor and he did not intend to be interrupted for quite some time.  
  
How could this have happened to him? If there was one thing on a list of a great many things Draco had never struggled with, it was the female persuasion. It was a talent, a gift, an art form, you could say. And it was wholly and thoroughly natural. Until today. Never had Draco dreamed of the day when he would fail to get any girl he wanted, especially a ditzy, empty- headed one like Lavender Brown that he was simply using to further an evil ploy. It was supposed to have been like taking candy from a baby, though as Voldemort himself had proven on many occasions, some found that harder than others.  
  
Draco felt his soul gradually slipping away into the very maws of anguish and suffering. His claim to fame, his favorite pastime, the most important thing that he had staked his existence on, had finally, it seemed, forsaken him. Not once in his seventeen years had such an easy opportunity been wrenched away from him. Never in his life had such effortless prey slipped from his grasp. More importantly, never in his teenage years had he been refused by a girl. He consoled himself with the thoughts that he hadn't really been refused. It had been more like a reluctant decline. Nevertheless, one fact permeated Draco's muddled, woebegone mind, and that was that for the first time ever, he hadn't gotten the girl he wanted. Until this afternoon, his womanizing had always produced results that had been more than satisfactory. His perfect record was forever tarnished.  
  
_You're better off_, he tried to convince himself. _You'll find a new way in. A better way.  
_  
Draco rolled over once more and put his face in his hands. He couldn't fool himself. Lavender was the perfect way in to the Gryffindors and he had blown it. If only he had given his silvery laugh, or displayed his sleek yet manly Quidditch muscles. If he had only thought to give an extra, aloof little head toss that would have set his hair off to a most flagrant advantage. If only...  
  
He stopped his brooding abruptly as he heard the dormitory door open, then close once more. It couldn't possibly be those goons, Crabbe or Goyle. The footsteps now rapidly crossing the room were much to light and quick to belong to those bungling fools. He supposed that the mystery person might be Nott, who was considerably less bulky than Draco's troll-like bodyguards. Yes, it had to be Nott. He was probably just coming up to grab a book or something. That would be it. Draco had just rolled onto his side when he heard a familiar huffy breath and the unmistakable sounds of curtains being roughly opened. He whipped around to find his accomplice, standing with her hands on her hips, once foot tapping impatiently, as she looked down at him, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"Blaise!" he shrieked. "What if I hadn't been decent!?"  
  
"Oh thank heavens you were. Thank God for your stupid velvet robes you import from all corners of the world," she said, cringing. "I will be saying extra prayers of indebtedness tonight that you're not into sleeping in the nude, Malfoy, or I would have been blinded, and to be blunt, as scarred for life as Potter. I cannot even imagine the therapy bills. They'd have to stick me in St. Mungo's. I would be given a comfy little bed right next to all the other unfortunate people who have lost their minds. I may have even been worse off than the rest of them, for what could be more horrible than the sight you just hinted at?! I can just see myself sitting there, staring at the walls, blibbering inarticulately—much like you speak, actually—about the awful sight that I stumbled upon in my youth. I'd be completely and irrevocably incoherent. I'd–"  
  
"Shut up now, Blaise. Let's not mislead ourselves. You would have been enraptured and inspired to make statues and paintings of my incredibly magnificent countenance."  
  
"I will not even attempt to begin counting the absolute wrongs buried in that egocentric remark."  
  
"Why are you here, anyway?"  
  
Blaise rolled her eyes upward, clenching her teeth tightly. When she finally looked back down at Draco, it was with a horribly forced smile. Draco thought it looked more like a grimace.  
  
"Well, Draco," she said slowly and carefully, "you've been avoiding me which leads me to think that you're sulking. And the only reason for that would be because your pride has taken a blow. You can try to pretend otherwise, but you never miss a chance to boast unless you're self- conscious, and while that doesn't happen often as you have a ridiculously high opinion of yourself, it seems that way now. So stop hiding and come downstairs so we can fix you up and have you right back to your normal, conceited self."  
  
"Why do you care?"  
  
She sighed. "For some reason, and I blame this on a rare lapse of judgment, I promised that I would help you on your stupid little quest. I'm a lot of things, but a promise-breaker isn't one of them. So, if God forbid, I need to mend your broken self-esteem to help you on your way, then I'm going to do it. Besides, the sooner you're satisfied and on your evil way, the sooner I can get back to my normal life."  
  
She reached for his hand and pulled him bodily from the room.  
  
"Blaise! I wanted to mope in peace!"  
  
"Well, tough. We can't always get what we want, now can we?"  
  
She led him to a secluded corner in the common room and shoved him into a chair. He landed softly and settled himself into a pococurante yet elegant pose. Blaise stifled a laugh and forced her face into a look of assumed concern.  
  
"Now, tell me, Draco," she said in a calm, soothing voice, "what it is that is plaguing you."  
  
Draco remembered his promise to remain silent on this matter.  
  
"Nothing is wrong," he muttered, not quite meeting her eye.  
  
"Oh sure," she said sarcastically. "Nothing is wrong. You are always so cowed that a lack of bravado would not be worrying in the least. Let's just pretend that I've pestered you for hours so you can quit playing your little game and just be out with it."  
  
"Why must you constantly spew forth such vitriol?"  
  
"Please, Malfoy, I revel in it."  
  
He gave a pretentious sigh. "If you insist upon knowing...." He trailed off, hoping that Blaise would get the point and leave him alone. He had no such luck.  
  
"I do insist. You're humiliated by being turned down by a girl, aren't you?"  
  
Draco reddened slightly. Blaise looked triumphant.  
  
"Obviously. But what's the big deal? Everyone gets a negative answer once in awhile."  
  
"Not me!" said Draco in anguish. "I never have! This is all new to me! How am I supposed to act?"  
  
Blaise's mouth twitched. "I think this might be good for you. You will just have to pick yourself up and start anew. What's the plan, Boss?"  
  
Draco thought. Just because he had been turned down once didn't mean he was out of the game! Lavender had been jumping at the chance for a study date. He'd just have to get Seamus out of the way—then his path would be just as clear and easy as it had been before. He had just needed to put in all into perspective.  
  
"Well, we'll press on!" he said loudly, thrusting his fist into the air. "My new plan is to make myself as visible as possible! Then Lavender will realize what she's missing!"  
  
"Merlin," said Blaise, laughing and shaking her head, "it doesn't take long for you to regain your confidence, does it?"  
  
Draco patted her arm affectionately. "And it's all thanks to you, Blaise. Starting tomorrow, Operation Overexposure will be put into action!"  
  
"And I'm praying that by overexposure you only mean making yourself more visible in a completely clothed way, correct?"  
  
"Of course, Blaise, what did you think?"  
  
"I was just making sure I was clear, as my mental health seems to be perilously drifting toward extreme jeopardy with you."  
  
"Tomorrow we will make Lavender covet what she does not have. She'll be in our clutches within a week!"  
  
"If you say so," said Blaise.

* * *

Author's Note: It is a sad, sad day for my fandom. J.K. Rowling has finally talked about that elusive Blaise Zabini's gender, and our worst fears have been realized: it's a boy. Now really, what is a parody author to do when she's writing her first Slytherin story and she needs a sassy girl to counter Draco? She can't use Pansy or Millicent, that's for sure. Sigh. Well, for obvious reasons, Blaise will remain a girl in my story, as I can't very well change her into a boy now (the 1997-1998 school year doesn't include a leap year, for one), so let's call it artistic license and be done with it.  
  
Also, chapters may start coming out less frequently as I seem to have pulled a Hermione circa PoA.

* * *


	6. Chapter Six

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project  
  
Chapter Six  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
For the rest of the night, Draco was in an almost obscenely happy mood. A wide, uncharacteristic grin covered his face as he plowed through his homework. It had been a bad day, to be sure, but things were most definitely looking up. A small break in confidence could shake a normally self-assured man, but Draco was pressing on. He may have been down, but he was not out.  
  
He opened the Arithmancy book he had very amusingly taken from the Ravenclaw girl earlier, and flipped through in search of a helpful page. He jotted down a few passable answers, deciding to finish the work later; his mind wasn't currently up to the task. He was thinking of far more important things, things that would decide his future... he was fine-tuning his plan to become extra-noticeable to a certain Ms. Lavender Brown. She would regret the day she had ever laid eyes on her stupid Irishman by the time Draco was through with her.  
  
The most important thing was to utilize a tool that he and Blaise had been using for some time: Lavender's class schedule. Draco would never be far behind when Lavender made her way to classes. He would always be sure to make an appearance at every break. With enough waving, strutting, and hair tossing, no one, particularly Lavender, would be able to resist him.  
  
"Why are you smiling?" came a grunting voice to Draco's left. He glanced up to see his pawns, Crabbe and Goyle, staring at him stupidly. Crabbe's mouth was half-open and Goyle's eyes were slightly glazed. How they had managed to get to their seventh year was beyond Draco. He rolled his eyes skyward, and mentally slapped himself—he would not pick up Blaise Zabini's bad habits.  
  
"I am smiling because I'm happy," Draco said slowly. "It's what one customarily does, see."  
  
"What are you happy about?" asked Goyle.  
  
"Oh, nothing," said Draco lightly, though his eyes gleamed maliciously. Crabbe and Goyle would be detrimental to his Plan, so it was imperative that they know nothing of it. Of course, it certainly was never a hard task to conceal things from them. They were the typical goons—good for their physical strength, but virtually nothing else.  
  
But even the dullest seventh years in the school can tell that when someone is rubbing their hands together and cackling nefariously, it usually means something is up. Draco realized his error a moment too late.  
  
"Uh... what are you doing?" asked Crabbe, pointing stupidly at Draco's hands, which were paused in mid-rub.  
  
"Nothing! I'm doing nothing," said Draco quickly, clasping his hands and setting them on his lap. He tried to assume a position of innocence and beamed beatifically at his dimwitted bodyguards. They bought it.  
  
"Oh, OK," said Crabbe. "We haven't seen much of you lately. Where have you been?"  
  
"Well, you know, keeping busy," said Draco, grabbing at his quill so he could occupy his awkwardly folded hands. "N.E.W.T.s and all."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle looked disgusted.  
  
"You've been studying?" Crabbe asked, an expression of great distaste distorting his already ogre-like face.  
  
"Yes," said Draco, gritting his teeth. "I aspire to be more than a mere sheep, following at the feet of whatever leader I am being told to follow. Therefore, I study. Slytherins are not chosen on blood alone, though you two might be the exception. Where is your cunning? Your ambition? Have you no pride? "  
  
Luckily for Draco, this did not become a ruinous statement that gave him away entirely. His proclamation contained a few words consisting of more than one syllable, so Crabbe and Goyle were completely lost. They simply stared at him confusedly, before grinning and plopping themselves down next to him. Draco met Blaise's eyes from across the table. She was biting her lip and had the distinct aura of one who was trying very hard not to laugh.  
  
"Good of you to help me out, Blaise," he muttered once Crabbe and Goyle had started communicating with each other in their usual guttural grunts and snorts.  
  
She smirked impishly. "Where would be the fun in that? You should stop that smiling, though. People are starting to notice. I thought that being sneaky was key, here. Subtlety is always the answer, and all of that."  
  
Draco stuck his tongue out at her. She shrugged and returned to her work.  
  
"Just wondering why you aren't following your own rules," she said delicately, scribbling something down on her parchment.  
  
Draco returned to staring at the table and concocting further wickedness. Once he had Lavender in his clutches, things could get into motion. With the tantalizing thought of invading the Gryffindor ranks still fresh in his mind, and with a twisted smile curving his lips, he picked up his schoolbag and headed to his dormitory. Yes, things were certainly getting better for him.  
  
The next few days blurred indistinctly into weeks as Draco set the latest stage of his plan into motion. No matter where she went, with the obvious exceptions of the girls' bathrooms and Gryffindor Tower, Lavender was never safe from Draco Malfoy. He stopped by to give her a friendly hello on his way to Arithmancy classes, and he was always close to the North Tower when Divination let out. Draco would wave serenely at her from across the grounds or in the middle of a crowded corridor. He would casually bump into her as she walked hand in hand with Seamus, and though on these occasions he made eye contact and nothing more, it was what he was most proud of. In the company of both her boyfriend and the most attractive boy in school, Lavender was faced with the obvious conclusion that she was settling for second best in the form of her Gryffindor boy toy. As far as Draco could tell, she was weakening.  
  
An unforeseen nuisance was Parvati Patil. Draco had always considered her to be just as empty-headed and image-obsessed as Lavender, but he was apparently wrong. With Parvati, there was more than met the eye. Behind her pretty face, not to mention hair that even Draco could admire, there lurked a brain, or at the very least something similar. Every time Draco 'accidentally' ran into Lavender, Parvati would fix an unsettlingly sharp eye upon him, which always gave him the unmanly desire to shudder. Parvati, it seemed, had taken the role of Lavender's conscience, and her morals could possibly be costing him success. As a Malfoy, he had grown up knowing that such individuals could easily be permanently disposed of, but he had to break away from this old way of thinking for two reasons: one, he was no longer abiding by the rules Lucius Malfoy had laid down, and two, Parvati Patil could be an asset later on in his Project.  
  
Fooling Lavender was undoubtedly easy. Getting the rest of the Gryffindors in his palm could be harder. The sooner he won Parvati over, the sooner he would come closer to getting more of the brave and noble brethren on his side. Parvati, for all of her ethical infirmities, had an unquestionable gift. She was on good terms with every Gryffindor, and she had persuasive speaking down pat. Sure, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger didn't think her fondness of Divination was impressive, but she had always stuck up for all of the things pure and holy, and that, for some reason, was important to Gryffindors. If Parvati accepted Draco, she could quite possibly get the others to accept him as well.  
  
But he wouldn't worry about that now. It would all come in due time. The most pressing thing was to keep working on Lavender.  
  
Draco had given Blaise some time off to follow Lavender around himself, something Blaise was very grateful for.  
  
"Thank God," she had said when he had informed her that she could take a little break. "Hopefully I can regain the mental normalcy I had before I began hanging around with you."  
  
Draco thought that her caustic words stemmed from her subconscious disappointment about time not spent with him. It was, however, for the best. Draco had to constantly make his presence known around Lavender, and it would be best not to have girls following in his wake. Or at least girls who were not giggling insanely and following him around with adoration clearly in their eyes. Blaise lacked such qualities and could easily become suspicious, even to a girl with Lavender's nonexistent brain power.  
  
He peered cautiously around the tall plants he was hiding behind. Lavender was walking to the lake with Parvati, chatting breezily. He had to admit that spying was not nearly as fun without Blaise, though it may have been more productive. Blaise had excellent observation skills, but her attention span was not nearly where it needed to be.  
  
Preparing himself to make another confrontation, Draco did what he usually did in such situations. He combed his fingers through his hair, straightened his robes, and put his girl-charming smile on full power. No one lasted long when Draco was on the prowl.  
  
He swaggered down the path toward Lavender, who paused uncertainly when her eyes caught Draco. Parvati nudged her along, once again fixing Draco with her patented, suspicious narrow-eyed stare. Draco, the thrill of the chase now upon him, did not feel the least bit intimidated. He flashed his dazzling white grin at the girls and strolled a bit faster. Lavender stumbled a bit, her eyes taking the same shiny, excited look that Granger's got when she was talking about that house-elf organization she ran; the one with the incredibly stupid name. Parvati grabbed Lavender's arm and pulled her faster toward a spot near the lake, underneath a tall tree. Lavender sat down unsteadily, still looking dazed.  
  
Draco watched uninterestedly as Parvati leaned down to ask Lavender a question, a stern look on her face. Lavender nodded guiltily as an answer. Parvati looked vaguely ruffled as she took a seat next to her friend, and started in on what was undoubtedly a righteous treatise. Lavender wasn't paying attention—she had just noticed Draco, only a few yards away, and quickly closing the distance.  
  
Parvati, knowing that she wasn't being listened to and feeling very irritated because of it, looked up to see the cause of Lavender's distraction. She didn't look surprised, though her face had taken an unnecessarily hostile look.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Parvati aggressively. Lavender simply sighed and smiled vapidly.  
  
"I just wanted to see what you lovely ladies were up to!" said Draco, taking a seat next to Lavender. Parvati began muttering darkly under her breath—Draco wondered when she had gotten such an attitude—but Lavender looked ecstatic and began giggling.  
  
"So," Draco said, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back against the tree. Lavender looked faint with glee. "How were your classes today?"  
  
"It's Saturday," said Parvati dully, examining her nails.  
  
"Of course it is," Draco said quickly. "Just a little joke, ha, ha."  
  
Parvati raised her eyebrows, clearly not amused, but Lavender had gone into peals of raucous laughter. Draco had to admit that her reaction was quite amusing. Perhaps Lavender wasn't so bad, after all. She laughed at his 'jokes,' which was more than what could be said about Blaise. On the other hand, Pansy Parkinson, too, laughed at the things he said. But then, Pansy had always been positively smitten with him. All in all, Lavender's laughing could be taken as a very good sign, though it was getting tiring. Either Seamus was even stupider than she was, or she was not used to semi- clever comments, but Draco could hardly say anything without her falling into giggles again. Parvati eventually got so sick of the scene that she got up to leave, giving both Draco and Lavender a curt goodbye before she went.  
  
Draco restrained himself from whooping with triumph. It would not be subtle or civilized. He would just have to content himself with a satisfied smirk, which Lavender was now smiling ridiculously at. Draco was a subconscious genius. He hadn't even known he was doing it, but by making Lavender laugh, and consequently, annoying Parvati at the same time, Draco had managed to remove Parvati-the-Plan-Killer from the area and get Lavender on her own. Really, he would have to try the Sorting Hat on again sometime, although it was filthy and looked every day of its age. Perhaps the old thing was going senile—yes, his whole family had been in Slytherin, and yes, he embodied a good amount of the Slytherin traits. But how could such marvelous brains as his go to waste? Maybe he should have been tossing witticisms back and forth with the Ravenclaws.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by Lavender, who was now gazing at him, the silly smile still plastered on her face, and rubbing his shoulder.  
  
"What are you thinking about, Draco?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
Oh, only about how you are walking straight into my clutches, my dear. For generations to come, you will be known as the girl who helped enable the greatest Dark Lord to ever live gain power.  
  
"I'm not thinking of much," said Draco, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. Lavender sighed; Draco smiled. The hair thing worked every time.  
  
"You must be thinking about something. Come on and tell me," Lavender pressed.  
  
Just his luck. Even when he was looking for a girl to use to further his evil schemes, he got stuck with the one who wanted to talk about feelings.  
  
"Oh, well, you know," said Draco. "I'm thinking about normal things. School and such."  
  
Lavender looked disappointed and withdrew her hand from his shoulder.  
  
"Oh," she said, looking away.  
  
"Actually, Lavender," Draco said swiftly, "I was really thinking about you and me."  
  
That got her attention.  
  
"What about us?" she asked, once again focusing on him.  
  
"Do you remember what I said before?" inquired Draco. "I asked you awhile ago if you ever wanted to get together to study, and, well, the offer still stands."  
  
To his disappointment, Lavender's face took on its usual look of mingled delight and regret.  
  
"I... I'm still going out with Seamus, Draco," she whispered. "Parvati keeps saying it's not right for me to spend time with you."  
  
"Yes, I guess so," said Draco, trying to hide his irritance. Honestly, what was with these Gryffindors!? Here he was, the most attractive man to set foot in Hogwarts for quite some time, and he was been refused for someone else! The injustice of it! He made to stand up, but Lavender grabbed his arm.  
  
"Wait!" she said. Draco looked at her expectantly. "I—well, if it weren't for Seamus, I would definitely study with you—"  
  
"But as it is," Draco interrupted, "you don't feel it's appropriate."  
  
Lavender looked down at the ground, her face reddening slightly.  
  
"No, it's all right, I completely understand," lied Draco.  
  
"I really do like you, Draco."  
  
He smiled humorlessly. "Even though I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor?"  
  
Lavender looked up fiercely. "That has nothing to do with it! House rivalries are so stupid."  
  
"But what would your housemates say?"  
  
"I wouldn't care. I mean, lately you've seemed like a really great person."  
  
Draco decided to ignore the possible implications of the things he had been before the 'lately.'  
  
"But they all think I'm the evil scum of the universe, right?"  
  
"Well, yes," said Lavender, "but I don't. And, really, if not for Seamus..."  
  
"Don't say anything you'll regret, dear," said Draco, though he was very pleased. If not for Seamus... well, that could be arranged.  
  
Draco brushed off his robes needlessly, then pat Lavender on the shoulder.  
  
"I'll see you around," he said with a smile, then turned to walk away. He clearly heard Lavender whisper that she would never wash her shoulder again. Draco grinned. Things were back on track.  
  
Author's Note: I'm sorry it has taken so long to post this—I'm very busy and I had a computer crisis. And now it sounds like I should be adding 'my dog ate my homework' and 'I couldn't write because my aunt's cousin's mother's great-uncle's best friend died,' but I promise I'm not just making excuses! I lost my chapter outlines and my computer decided it hated me and I couldn't type anything... anyway, that is my plea for acquittal.  
  
I also feel the need to apologize for chapter five, or as I call it, In Which Nothing Happens But It Is Established That Draco is Emotionally Unstable. It was supposed to contain much more than it did, and was supposed to go in an entirely different direction, but as I was writing it just kept getting longer and I decided, "OK then, another chapter completed."  
  
And while I'm at it, sorry for some of the typographical errors... my beta is not always, er, available... and quite frankly, by the time I post, I've already read and reread what I've written ten million times and I honestly can no longer see the stupid little mistakes. Oh well, thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
For the next few days, Draco was preoccupied with one thought and one thought only: getting Seamus out of the picture, in any way possible. He had moved beyond trying to act careful—he needed action and he needed it now.  
  
Of course, he would still, on some levels, remain furtive. Lavender couldn't know that their chance meetings were really, in essence, stalwartly planned out stalkings, and he would carefully keep these facts from her. It was sharply evident, however, that things needed to be done about her boyfriend, and quickly. The matter of Seamus was getting increasingly dire and Draco's patience was wearing thin. Desperate times did call for desperate measures, after all, and Draco was more than happy to oblige. His plan was stalling, and he knew it. Without these little unanticipated hindrances from the Gryffindors, he could have been much further along in his Disownment Project than he was presently.  
  
He was thinking of all this with slight trepidation as he spied on Lavender behind a pillar. She was eating by the lake (from Draco's observations, a favorite spot of hers), with Parvati and, to Draco's tremendous revulsion, Seamus. How those girls could possibly keep their food down in his presence was beyond Draco's comprehension. He personally would not have been able to enjoy his lunch with that dreadful bother in such close proximity.  
  
The matter of ridding himself of Seamus caused him a mixture of different feelings. It was vastly amusing to plot out ways to get the Irish idiot out of the picture, though it often led to bouts of unproductivity, as he tended to wander off into fanciful musings of Seamus's demise rather than focusing on the larger task at hand.  
  
Sometimes, when an ingenious (and, harder to come up with, legal) plan was eluding him, he settled into the fits of gloom that had become undesirably and increasingly more common to him. Thankfully, his normally uplifted composure pulled him through these low moments, but despite their temporary nature, they could be disheartening nonetheless.  
  
He shifted uncomfortably behind his column, rubbing his back as best as he could. You would think that after weeks of doing nothing else, he would have built up enough strength to get by without damage. Spying was most certainly not a glamorous activity, and he was not sure he was reaping the proper rewards from his strenuous efforts. A weaker man than he would probably give up, but say what you would about Draco Malfoy, he would not give in so easily.  
  
Though, surely he could take a little break. All Lavender was doing was eating, and that couldn't conceivably help him out in any way, could it? He would just make himself a bit comfortable and rest his aching back. Possibly shut his eyes for a few moments...  
  
Draco woke up with a start, cursing stupid sleep-deprived thoughts that had caused him to make such moronic judgments. Falling asleep in broad daylight and in clear view of a very good amount of people? The indignity of it did not befit a man of his sophistication and stature. What a state his hair must be in, and his robes! He braced himself, then cast his eyes warily over his clothes. He winced. It was just as he had thought. The finest material money could buy, usually kept so immaculate, was rumpled and disheveled. He gave a jerk of surprise and looked more closely at his garments—he looked like Potter! He ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the Slytherin dormitories, earning himself a sharp admonishment from McGonagall as he passed her, though her hardly paid her any mind. He could not bother with such trivialities as school rules at the moment. Draco could publicly humiliate himself by lowering his standards to Lavender Brown if it allowed him to carry out his ends. He could and would not tolerate, however, being bedraggled in public, like some coarse plebeian. It went against the very principles he held so dear. The shame, the aspersions upon his name...  
  
At last, he beheld the lovely sight of his common room, sped to his dormitory, and pulled out a pair of fresh, clean, and to his relief, flawlessly pressed robes. He carefully removed them from the hanger in his wardrobe, tore off the old ones and cast them roughly aside, then shrugged on the new ones. He turned to leave, but his eyes caught on the studying form of Theodore Nott. An image floated in front of his eyes—his Slytherin classmate, beating up a Gryffindor... a very important Gryffindor... a Gryffindor whose fate rested in Draco's hands...  
  
Draco pranced out of his dormitory, light-hearted and frolicsome. He may have just found a place to start.  
  
It was with a much-improved outlook that Draco found himself spying the next day. Lavender, as was usual these days, was at the lake, doing something Draco had never seen her do before—reading. Upon closer inspection, he saw her reading material to be a copy of Witch Weekly. Draco smiled at her dependability. He had chosen very wisely.  
  
Spying no longer seemed to be a chore. On the contrary, it was quite cathartic and soothing. He was feeling very relaxed and peaceful, just watching Lavender mark something in her magazine and enjoying the silence that allowed him time to immerse himself in quiet contemplation.  
  
"Boo," said a voice from behind him. As quiet as the voice of his accomplice had been, it had been a break in his beautiful calm, and it had made him give a startled jump. He was absolutely furious with himself.  
  
"Blaise!" he said sternly. "What in the world do you think you are doing!?"  
  
She shrugged, then plopped herself on the ground beside him, stretching out her legs, and then folding them neatly beneath her.  
  
"I was bored, my schoolwork was done, and I'd tortured my allotted amount of first years for the day, so I decided to come out and check on you."  
  
"I assure you that I was doing quite fine by myself, thanks," said Draco. "If you would please remove yourself from my two feet of personal space—"  
  
Blaise threw an arm around his shoulders. Honestly, she could not possibly be any more irritating.  
  
"What were you smiling about?" asked Blaise. "Before I interrupted you, I mean. You were grinning like a daft fool. You should consider not doing it anymore."  
  
"I think I've been through this before," Draco said, peering out at Lavender. "It wasn't too long ago that I explained to those terminally stupid fools I call Crabbe and Goyle that it is common for one, when one is feeling happy or some similar emotion, to smile. And, how coincidental! You were there!"  
  
"Oh, save it Malfoy, you have that 'I am such a clever boy' smile on, which means you're up to something. Out with it."  
  
"It almost feels like an invasion of privacy when one's smiles are being named and catalogued," Draco mused.  
  
"If you are looking for me to give you some Lavender-esque compliment, like, 'Your smiles are too stunningly perfect not to be categorized, Draco,' then you can keep on waiting."  
  
"Not least because Lavender probably doesn't know the word 'categorized.' "  
  
Blaise looked at him with mixed exasperation and amusement.  
  
"If you aren't going to tell me, fine," she said, "but you know you'll end up coming to me eventually. I'm the one that takes what is brilliant to you, and makes it into what is not monstrously stupid."  
  
Draco was insulted. He turned his back deliberately on her and continued to watch Lavender, who was now reading with her tongue protruding slightly from her mouth.  
  
"You know," Blaise called lazily from over his shoulder, "the sooner you stop pretending to ignore me, the sooner we can get that mentally defective object of your grand plan's affection where we need her. Must we go through this incessantly?"  
  
Draco turned back to look at her.  
  
"Insulting my intelligence is not the way to get me to open up, Miss Zabini."  
  
"I'm not insulting your intelligence. I'm still working with you, aren't I? I'm merely suggesting that some of your plans are a bit... fantastical."  
  
"So you think that I'm smart?"  
  
"Someone is fishing shamelessly for gratuitous flattery today," Blaise said airily.  
  
"I really want to know!"  
  
Blaise looked as if she were choosing her words carefully, which infuriated Draco to no end.  
  
"Well," she said finally, "I don't think you are piteously half-witted in a consistent manner, though you do have your moments."  
  
"Blaise, you silly girl! I do not want honesty, I want a good answer! Stop rolling your eyes!"  
  
"Okay, Draco, you are not only devilishly handsome, you are also a specimen of genius the likes of whom the world has never seen."  
  
"Why, thank you, Blaise my dear. That answer, at least, was quite satisfactory."  
  
"So what's your latest plan?"  
  
"I'm going to ask Nott to go beat up Seamus for me." He clapped a hand over his mouth—he hadn't meant to tell her that.  
  
"Wait. Start again and explain why that will be helpful this time."  
  
"Listen, Blaise, when Nott goes and knocks Seamus around a bit, I can rush over to Lavender all righteous and Gryffindor-like, and proclaim disgust over the violence that had so unfortunately befallen her boyfriend."  
  
Blaise blinked and sat back, looking a bit stunned. Draco was pleased—he knew it was a good idea. She just sat there and gaped in silence, which was why her outburst came so unexpectedly.  
  
"You're WHAT?"  
  
"I'm going to have Seamus beaten up."  
  
"Oh, please tell me you're joking."  
  
"Of course I'm not joking. Joking at a time like this would be vulgar."  
  
Blaise closed her eyes and looked like she was counting to ten. Draco gave her a minute, then looked over at her, confused. Surely it didn't take her that long to count to so low a number. Maybe she was repeating it. He listened closely to the muttering noises she was making. It seemed that she had gone beyond counting to ten in English—it now sounded as if she were counting to one hundred, under her breath, in Italian. Draco stared at, slightly in awe.  
  
"I didn't know you were bilingual."  
  
Blaise opened one eye. "I'm trying very hard not to come over there and knock some sense into you."  
  
"But Blaise, that is exactly what Nott will be doing to Finnigan, don't you see?"  
  
Blaise groaned. "Could someone please explain to me why I have gotten myself involved with this?" she asked, her head thrown back and her hands reaching heavenward. "What have I done to deserve this? Is it the years I spent tormenting first years, Muggleborns, and the entire population of Hufflepuff House? Am I being punished for it?"  
  
"Blaise, calm yourself, your display is simply ignominious!"  
  
"Five syllables, Malfoy, I'm impressed."  
  
Draco glared at her. "I see you're done making a fool of yourself."  
  
"Whereas you are clearly never done."  
  
"Really, though," Draco said, ignoring her slight, "what's so wrong with my plan this time?"  
  
"For one," said Blaise, "Nott will never agree to it."  
  
Draco smiled at her condescendingly. "And yet, Nott has beaten up Finnigan at least one time before."  
  
Blaise looked up, surprised. "He has? When was this?"  
  
"The day I formulated my plan, of course," said Draco proudly. "He inadvertently helped me with the idea."  
  
A look of dawning comprehension covered Blaise's face, along with an evil little smirk. Draco was not encouraged.  
  
"Tell me, Draco, sweet," Blaise said in a patronizing tone, "this wouldn't have been the same day you asked for my help with your lovely little plan, would it?"  
  
"Yes," Draco muttered.  
  
"Ah, yes, then Nott was thrashing Seamus on my orders. I had to cause a distraction so that one of my henchmen could put one of my own plans into order, under the teachers' noses, without being seen. Though considering the sheer size of Snape's nose, not to mention Dumbledore's, I think I might have gotten by just keeping in their shadows."  
  
"Blaise," Draco interrupted, "you are off on a tangent. Stop digressing and get on with it. What does Nott have to do with it?"  
  
"Nott only agreed because he had a substantial investment in my plot, an attachment he does not have to yours. So, again, he would never agree to it."  
  
Draco looked at her pleadingly. "You could get him to do it, couldn't you?"  
  
Blaise sighed, running a hand over her forehead. "Surely you know by now that Nott is far too clever to involve himself in something like this, especially with no evident reward in sight for him."  
  
"How did you get him to help you then?"  
  
Blaise smiled. "Well, when I said he had a substantial investment in my plot, perhaps it would have been better to explain it as this: I blackmailed him until he was forced to do it."  
  
Draco gasped. "You blackmailed Nott?"  
  
Blaise nodded. "Sure, why wouldn't I?"  
  
"Then why couldn't you do it again?"  
  
Blaise looked at him curiously. "I suppose I could," she said, thinking. "Though, of course, I don't know if I could get by with what I had last time."  
  
"And what was that?" Draco asked eagerly.  
  
"Malfoy, you are such a frightful gossip. No wonder Lavender appeals to you so much."  
  
"Shut up, Blaise. What did you have on Nott?"  
  
"If you must know, I caught him cheating on his Transfiguration exam."  
  
Draco slumped, feeling the disappointment of a thoroughly anticlimactic story. "That's it?"  
  
Blaise shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Hey, I didn't say it was exciting blackmail, but it got the job done. Nott didn't want anyone to find out, particularly McGonagall, so he had to do what I said or risk the consequences."  
  
"So tell me again why using that wouldn't work another time?"  
  
Blaise picked at the bark of a nearby tree and yawned. "Well, it's like you said, isn't it? It's not very exciting."  
  
Draco threw himself spread eagle onto the ground. "What am I going to do?" he said with despair.  
  
Blaise bit her lip, pondering, as he gazed up at her. "Give me a few days, Draco. I'll follow him around and dig up something good."  
  
"You mean it?" Draco asked, hopefully. Blaise's mouth curled slowly into a smile.  
  
"Sure, why not. No one ever said working with you was uninteresting."  
  
"Of course not," Draco said smugly, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Now, get to work, Agent Zabini. I'll stay on Lavender-tracking detail, and I'll expect a report from you in three days' time. You are dismissed."  
  
"I don't take orders from anyone, Malfoy," Blaise said.  
  
"Oh, come on Blaise, giving out orders is half the fun! Don't kill my joy! I get precious little of it nowadays."  
  
Blaise looked as if she were trying not to laugh.  
  
"All right, just this once, I'll humor you."  
  
She gave a chipper, exaggerated salute. "Yes, sir!"  
  
Draco smirked, then waved her away impatiently. "I said you were dismissed, Agent Zabini. We both have serious work to do. I'll be expecting that report!" he called to her retreating back.  
  
He returned to viewing Lavender's lakeside perusal of her magazine, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. It was good to have a friend like Blaise. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project

Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

The assurance that Blaise was hot on Nott's trail and ready to find a juicy secret to blackmail him with took a palpable weight off Draco's shoulders. As much as he would like to say that he was completely self-sufficient and able to carry his plan off by himself, the truth remained that Blaise was really quite a valuable asset. In fact, and it almost humiliated him to admit it, without Blaise, his plan would probably have crashed and burned at a phenomenal speed.

While Blaise was hard at work with Nott, Draco, though he kept up the appearance of a stringently dedicated stalker, was really taking what he justified as a well-deserved break. It would do no good for Draco to go about his work half-heartedly, for the potential consequences of such tremendous oversight could result in unalterably disastrous consequences. No, it was in everyone's best interest for him to rest his weary intellects and focus only on himself. He did not think this a selfish action. On the contrary, you might even call it altruistic. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that his pause in his endeavors was actually supreme self-sacrifice in order to help Blaise.

His clever little minion was such a good worker and gathered so much priceless information that any blunders on his part would only work to harm her. Though he had a lot to lose from foolish mistakes, ultimately Blaise would suffer the most. After all, even if Draco's plan failed, he was so obscenely talented that he could easily bounce back. He simply did not know, however, if Blaise could recover from such a blow. If her hours of observation were all for naught... well, Draco had come to know Blaise Zabini quite well, and the wrath that would concur was the stuff nightmares were made of.

The one glaring problem with taking a break was keeping it from the very partner he was trying to help. He would still have to keep up the air of hard work. So Draco continued to follow Lavender from place to place, and on the off-chance that Blaise was quietly checking up on him, it would seem as if he were still pursuing information on Lavender's character and whereabouts.

He hadn't found out anything new in what seemed like ages, and he didn't expect to uncover anything additional. He had the basics, naturally, and they would suffice. He knew that Lavender's favorite lessons were Divination and that she practically worshipped Professor Trelawney. She liked to hang out with Parvati at the lake, and she loved reading magazines (in fact, as far as Draco knew, they were the only things she did read). As long as he had these essential things down, he could always improvise if something strange and new came up.

And so, under the pretense of still tracking his subject, Draco was secretly reading novels he had stolen from Pansy Parkinson's schoolbag. He never thought he would say it, but Pansy did have good taste in books. And he'd always thought that the only thing she had good taste in was him...

On a bright, clear morning, two days into his short, relaxing vacation, Draco could be found in the almost empty Great Hall, sitting, novel in hand, at the Slytherin table, occasionally looking up to check on Lavender. She was sitting with Parvati, giggling over what looked like her horoscope. He wasn't interested—Pansy's book was keeping him riveted.

"Draco!" someone hissed.

He looked up as Blaise slid into the seat next to him, almost knocking him over. She was breathing heavily (not surprising, as she seemed to have just run as fast as she could across the Hall), and her hair was all over the place. Draco looked at her pointedly, then returned to his reading.

"Misplace your brush, Blaise?" he asked lightly as he turned the page.

"Ha, ha," Blaise answered, "Draco, I've—wait, what are you reading?"

"Nothing," said Draco, trying to hide the book. Blaise was too quick for him. She snatched it out of his hands, looking at him as if he were insane, then glanced down at the cover of the novel.

Oh, how glad Draco was that he'd had the foresight to charm the book cover to look like a guide to broom models of the twentieth century. Blaise snorted, and Draco made to take the book back. Blaise, smiling slyly, held onto it tighter, then with a mischievous look, flipped the book open to a page somewhere in the middle. Draco cursed under his breath—the contents of the book had not been bewitched. He watched, his cheeks growing hot, as Blaise skimmed the page. She grew more amused as she read, until she finally laughed aloud.

"Romance novels, Draco?" she howled, throwing the book back at him. He hastily grabbed it, holding onto it for dear life.

"Mind keeping it down, Blaise?" he snarled.

Blaise only laughed harder.

"Oh my," she said, clutching her stomach. "That's just perfect. A dandy you may be, but a cheesy romance-reading dandy? Wow...just...wow."

Draco glared at her.

"Finished yet?"

Blaise looked at the table, forcing her features into an expression of seriousness, but as soon as her eyes met Draco's she collapsed into wild cackles once more. Draco surveyed her coldly, his lips curling downward, which only set Blaise off again.

"Now really, you're getting ridiculous," he snapped.

"Yes, yes, you're right," said Blaise, wiping her eyes. A smirk was still plastered on her face, though the giggling had, thankfully, stopped.

"Who'd you get the book from?" she asked with mock innocence.

Draco hit her on the back of the head with it.

"Nick it from Lavender?" she asked.

"No," said Draco.

"Ah," Blaise said, nodding. "Then it must have come from Pansy."

Draco said nothing.

"Really though, Malfoy, romance novels? They just don't seem like your thing."

"Can we just drop it?" Draco grumbled.

Blaise, for once, acquiesced.

"Now I can relay what I really wanted to tell you," she said with relish. "It was terrible drudgery finding this out, so I hope you appreciate it."

"Yes," said Draco quickly. "I do appreciate it. I am no stranger to toil, so I know exactly how you are feeling."

Blaise stared at him appraisingly.

"You do know," she said casually, "that I know you haven't been working for a couple of days, right?"

Draco recovered quickly.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, Blaise."

"I mean," she said, "that you've been taking a short respite."

"I know nothing of this respite of which you speak."

"I'm sure you don't," she said impatiently. "Now back to what I was saying. I was tracking Theodore Nott, as we had agreed, and let me tell you, the boy is dull. He writes letters like there is no tomorrow, and after watching that for five hours, you really start to question your will to live. I was just about to leave when he finally got up from where he was sitting. It was a chance to move my legs, at least, so I kept following him."

"And?" Draco urged, eagerly.

"It was a false alarm, he was going to use the bathroom, and I certainly couldn't follow him there."

"So you've found nothing?" Draco asked dejectedly.

"Did I say that?" said Blaise. "No, I was just illustrating how monotonous Nott is, and how wearisome it was to track him. Too bad he didn't just cheat on that Potions test. Would've saved me loads of trouble... anyway, I was seriously considering turning in for the night when I was saved by a most miraculous set of circumstances."

"What?" said Draco, practically jumping out of his seat. Blaise was definitely enjoying this.

"Well, it was Voldemort Youth night."

Draco smiled. "Excellent."

"Not in the way you might think," said Blaise. "Well, he was heading toward the room where the meetings are held, and I thought I'd go with him, see what the old 'Slytherin Pride Club' was up to, maybe stick around to see if Pansy would try conjuring up the Dark Lord's spirit like she attempted to do in third year. But to my surprise, Theodore did not go to that meeting."

"Come on Blaise, the suspense is killing me. Where did he go?"

Blaise was in her element. She seemed to glow with the rapture of retelling her tale, and her enthusiasm was infectious.

"He met the answer to your prayers, Draco."

"Who did he go see, woman?!"

"Dahlia Hutchins," Blaise answered, her triumph seeping from every syllable.

Draco looked at her blankly. "Who?"

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Malfoy, you are hopeless. Dahlia Hutchins! Of Hufflepuff!"

"Oh!" said Draco. "Wait? Nott went to see a Hufflepuff? To kill her or something, correct? Because who in their right mind would go see a Hufflepuff for any other reason than to abuse them?"

Blaise looked disappointed. "You really don't see where I'm going with this, do you?"

"So Nott went to torment a Hufflepuff! We all do that! How is this going to help?"

"He did not go to torment this Hufflepuff you silly, thick-headed boy! He went to osculate with this Hufflepuff!"

She let her words sink in as she leaned back, satisfied.

"Ewwww!" cried Draco. "Gross! Why would he do that?!"

"But get this," said Blaise, bending her head closer to Draco's. "Not only is Dahlia a Hufflepuff, she is a Muggleborn Hufflepuff."

"The worst kind," said Draco, nodding. "Superlative work, my dedicated chum. I knew I could count on you."

Blaise looked exceptionally pleased with herself.

"So," said Draco. "What does this girl look like? I don't even know her."

"Not surprising. I don't make it a point to socialize with Hufflepuffs, do you? I don't know, she's kind of short, she has curly hair. She's in sixth year... her twin sister, Emonie, is a Ravenclaw. Actually, there's Emonie over there."

Blaise pointed to a spot some twenty feet in front of them, at a girl in blue. Draco gasped as she turned, her profile recognizable even from here. She noticed Draco and glared at him. He gulped; since when were diminutive, bookish little Ravenclaws intimidating? Draco kept a nervous eye on Emonie.

"What is it?" asked Blaise.

"Well," said Draco, trying to sound nonchalant, "I think that girl wants to hurt me."

"What did you do this time?" Blaise said, a laugh in her voice.

"I—uh—stole her Arithmancy book from her."

"Ah," said Blaise. "That would definitely make a Ravenclaw hate you. Say no more."

"Now," said Draco, wanting to change the subject, "when are we going to corner Theodore? Because this is simply superb, Blaise, I assure you. If the other Slytherins found out about Nott's rendezvous with a Hufflepuff, and a Mudblood Hufflepuff at that, he would be ruined! I don't believe that I could have come up with anything better myself."

"Yes, and you are forever in my debt, you should be kissing my feet, blah, blah, blah. Really, it was tedium of the first order, but it truly was not exceptionally hard."

"My dear girl, you are being modest. Your ability should be recognized! You have swelled the ranks of geniuses everywhere!" He threw an arm around her shoulders. "How does it feel to be one of us?"

"I'm honored, to be sure," said Blaise dully.

"Really, Blaise, I'm asking you to revel in your moment of brilliance. I do it all the time!"

"Which I know only too well," Blaise muttered.

Draco frowned. "You are most definitely acting choleric. What is the matter?"

"Nothing, I think you're just making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be."

He was confused. Only moments ago, she'd been basking in the glow of her success. Now she seemed, well, almost embarrassed by it.

"What's wrong, Blaise? Really."

"It's—well, yeah, it was a very helpful thing to find out, and I'm proud that I found it... I suppose I'm not as fond as attention as you are. It helped the team, and that's all I care about."

"You don't want to be acknowledged for your glorious discovery?"

"That's not it," said Blaise. "I'm glad you think it's a good bit of information. But I don't think I deserve such fanfare."

Draco shrugged. "If you say so. I was just doing what I would've liked done for me, if I had come up with something like that."

Blaise smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"So, back on the subject of Nott," said Draco, still rather bemused by what had just happened. "Do you think we should wait awhile to approach him?"

Blaise shook her head. "No, let's do it tonight."

A sudden, horrible thought came to him. "You got evidence, didn't you?"

Blaise looked at him pityingly. "What do you take me for? An amateur?"

She pulled a photograph carefully from her pocket and set it on the table in front of Draco. It showed, in nauseating detail, the nature of Nott's meeting with this girl. Moving photographs really did have their downsides.

"I don't know whether to tell you good work or to proclaim disgust that you actually obtained this thing."

Blaise was, again, looking gratified.

"Come, Draco," she said, snatching the picture and putting it back into her pocket. "We have work of a sensitive nature to complete."

Draco and Blaise sat in two armchairs in the common room, observing Nott.

"We should do it now, I think," said Blaise, sprawled out on her leather chair. "He's by himself, the common room is mostly empty. Ideal conditions, I'd say."

"Yes, let's go."

They stood up and sauntered across the room toward Theodore, who, by the looks of it, was writing another letter. They took seats on either side of him. Nott glanced up curiously, then nodding, returned to his writing.

"Well hello, Theodore," said Blaise. He looked up at her again, irritated by the interruption. Draco smiled—she really was a professional.

Blaise fluttered her eyelashes at Nott.

"Oh, how we keep meeting under such similar circumstances!" she said dramatically. "Nott, I have yet another task for you. And if you refuse to do it, you will not like the consequences."

Nott's eyes grew wide as he looked at the two of them.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"Actually, Theo—do you mind if I call you that?" asked Blaise. "We're becoming such good friends, and all."

"No, you cannot," he said laconically.

"Sure thing, Theo," said Blaise. "Anyway, as I was saying, this task is not such a hard thing to do. In fact, it's the same task we agreed on before."

Nott narrowed his eyes.

"You want me to kick Finnigan around some more?"

"Very good, Theo! You remembered. That's precisely what we want from you."

"And what's in it for me?"

"Yes, I thought we'd come to that," said Blaise, reaching into her pocket. "You'll recall, won't you, the situation in which you aided me last time?"

"I remember," said Theodore through gritted teeth.

"Good boy," said Blaise. "Unfortunately for you, history is repeating itself. You do this for us, or we'll see to it that you cannot show your face in this common room ever again."

"And how will you accomplish that?"

"With this," said Blaise, whipping out her picture. "Rather condemnatory, wouldn't you say? Hard to talk your way out of this one. The evidence speaks for itself, and I happen to know that this girl, a certain Miss Dahlia Hutchins, is a Hufflepuff. A Muggleborn Hufflepuff. I don't think our fellow Slytherins will take kindly to your associating with a Mudblood."

Nott grabbed the photo and ripped it into shreds. Draco was horrified, but Blaise only smiled soberly.

"Rash action, Theo," she said. "You may have ripped up that picture, but I have a hundred more like it upstairs."

Draco chuckled at his colleague's prescience. Nott was now looking decidedly panicked. He looked between Draco and Blaise, biting his lip.

"All right," he conceded, "I'll do it."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project**

Chapter Nine

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

They left Nott to his letters, after Blaise made the arrangements for the attack on Seamus. It would happen the next morning before class started for the day, outside of the Great Hall. She had also arranged it so Draco's acting skills would be put to the test. He was certain that he would perform with flying colors.

They made their way to an isolated corner of the common room, Blaise taking the lead. She plopped down on a chair next to a table, then fixed a critical eye upon him.

"I think what you need right now is to sit back, relax, refocus, and regroup," she said at last.

"No, I must jump up and down with joy!" Had he just said that out loud?

Blaise's lips twitched. "Yes, I'm sure that would be entertaining, but it would attract a lot of attention."

Draco sank back into a chair, sighing deeply. Blaise looked preoccupied.

"What's wrong, my clever pal?" he pressed. "Rejoice! Things are falling into place!"

"Don't you think you are... veering off track a little?" Blaise asked.

"How so?"

"Well," she said, "sometimes I wonder if you actually know what you're doing. Just hear me out!" she said over his protests. "You go into super-spy mode, and you get really into following people around, and I don't know, don't you think you kind of overdo it?"

"Of course not! I know exactly what I am doing. My grand Plan is always at the back of my mind." He swung his arms grandly. "Once Lavender is within my clutches, I can start invading the Gryffindors. Word of my new companions will leak to my father, and he will have no choice but to disown me. Then, disowned and free from familial ties, I can start secretly observing my enemies. Once I leave school, I will be poised and ready to take over the world!"

Blaise pursed her lips. "Well, good. As long as you remember the big picture, we're fine."

"I'm glad you feel that way, oh lovely companion of mine!"

Blaise opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She paused, looking at him as if trying to figure him out.

"Why, exactly, are you speaking to me like that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, my rapture is far beyond words, dear Blaise," he said buoyantly, "so instead, I choose to rhapsodize over you, my bright little accomplice."

Blaise laughed. "You really do amuse me sometimes, Draco. You're quite eccentric."

"Eccentric in a good, unique way, or eccentric in a toeing derangement way?"

"Both, I think."

Not quite sure what to make of that statement, Draco pulled out the novel from his bag, leaned back to make himself comfortable, and started reading. He put his feet up on the table; Blaise looked at him in what could have been puzzlement or disgust, then pushed them off.

"What, did I trod in something vile?" asked Draco absently.

"No," said Blaise, standing up. "Your shoes are perfectly well-kept."

Draco smirked. "Of course they are! I am always the picture of impeccable grooming! Hey, what are you doing?"

Blaise had snatched the book from out of his hands, and was marching to where Pansy and Millicent had just sat down, in a spot across the common room. They were giggling in a very strange, un-Slytherin way.

"Here's your book, Pansy," Blaise said, tossing it to her.

"Thanks," said Pansy, looking at it curiously, "I've been looking all over for it! Where did you find it?"

For one horrible moment, Draco thought Blaise was going to tell Pansy the truth. Instead, she looked over at him, then back to Pansy, and closed her eyes.

"I borrowed it," she said. "I thought I had told you. A bit of reading to take my mind off lessons, you know."

"Oh! No problem, Blaise," said Pansy. "I'll loan you my novels anytime you want. I didn't know you liked this sort of thing."

If Draco was not mistaken, Blaise's face was starting to get slightly flushed.

"Yeah, well," she said, "I'm unpredictable."

She walked back over to Draco, rather more frazzled looking than what was normal, and still peculiarly red around the ears.

"I hope you remember what I have just done. I have subjected myself to ultimate mortification for you."

"_Blaise_!" he cried out in suffering. "Turlough was just about to propose to Siobhan!"

Blaise looked at him incredulously, made a noise somewhere between a huff and a snort, rolled her eyes, and then walked back over to Pansy.

"Actually," she said, her voice sounding oddly strained, "I wasn't quite finished yet. Could I have it back?"

"Sure, Blaise!" said Pansy. "I'm just so excited! I thought only Millicent and I liked romances! Now we can talk with you, too!"

"Great!" said Blaise, trying to sound cheerful. "I have to finish this one first. I'll tell you how I liked it when I'm done with it."

She walked with her back facing Draco, still smiling at Pansy and Millicent in what she must have thought was a friendly way, then came to a stop in front of Draco's chair, almost toppling onto him. Whirling around, she gave him a terrifying glare that could have given the Basilisk a run for its money.

"I promise you," she whispered in a deadly tone, "that for every hour I have to spend listening to them talk about who's with who in these stupid books, I will find a way to get back at you."

"Blaise," said Draco in alarm, "settle down, girl! Your blood pressure is rising! It's only a book."

"It's only a book, he says!" Blaise exclaimed to no one in particular. "What he thinks is only a book is actually unjust misery for me!"

But she was starting to smile, so Draco knew he was safe.

"Say, Blaise," he said, pushing his luck, "you wouldn't want to strike up a deal here, would you?"

"What kind of a deal?" she asked suspiciously, throwing herself back into her seat.

"Well, it's not that hard of a thing, really," said Draco, buying time.

"Stop dawdling and get out with it," she said, grabbing a quill and writing something on a piece of parchment.

"What's that you're writing?" said Draco, grateful for a distraction.

"I'm making plans," said Blaise. "Really, you should tell me this deal now, before I lose interest."

He knew very well that when Blaise lost interest, she wouldn't hear another word on the subject.

He took a breath, then said very quickly, "You get me books from Pansy whenever I need them, and I'll..."

He trailed off, not knowing quite what he could do in return. Blaise glanced amusedly at him from over the top of her quill.

"Draco, if you're that desperate, I'll do it for free. Lord knows that it's better to hear Pansy and Millicent squealing about romance novels than it is to hear them squealing about Harry Potter."

Maybe he hadn't understood her.

"They squeal about who, Blaise?"

"Harry Potter."

_Oh God_, he thought. _I'm going deaf, or insane. Or both. That's twice I thought I heard that name spoken. Perhaps there's someone whose name rhymes with Potter_.

He tried desperately to come up with any name that could possibly be misinterpreted as the one he had just heard. Coming to no conclusive results, he tried a different path.

"Please tell me that 'Harry Potter' is really just a codename for someone else," he said, trying to stay optimistic.

"No, they really are squealing over Harry Potter," Blaise assured him.

"WHY!?"

Blaise shook her head. "Search me. They hate him, but they think he's cute. I don't understand it, but there you are."

"That," said Draco firmly, "is truly disgusting. Now I am going to go quietly back to my reading and try to forget about that revolting revelation."

"Hey, at least you aren't exposed to it for hours on end," grumbled Blaise. "I get to hear about it in all of its detestable glory."

"Stop now, Blaise, I'm begging you, my soundness of mind depends on it."

She wouldn't quit complaining (he thought she was doing it just to rile him and he was quite right), so Draco was forced to go to his dormitory. He promised himself he would stay up and practice for the next day's events, but before long, he felt himself drifting off to sleep, a smile curling his lips. If things went as planned, he would be in very good stead indeed.

* * *

He woke the next morning, butterflies in his stomach, which was not a manly enough term for his liking. He dressed conscientiously and carefully, and was quite torn between the silk and the satin robes. He studied his reflection in the mirror, his brow creasing slightly, trying to ignore the compliments now spewing forth from the looking glass. Honestly, couldn't it see that Draco was making a drastic decision? After ten minutes' scrupulous deliberation, he pulled on the silk robes, making a note that if blood starting flying in Theodore's little battering of Seamus, he should stay at least ten feet away. After applying his hair gel (the mirror was now making kissing noises), he headed out of the dormitory.

Millicent whistled as he walked into the common room.

"Hey there, gorgeous," she said, waving her massive hand and winking. "Pansy, you may want to come out from there."

Pansy had been trying to retrieve one of her books from behind the statue of Salazar Slytherin. She was muttering, "Now really, what good is this statue, anyway? Do they expect us to be bowing down to it or something? It's just plain scary, and this is the second book I've dropped behind it—"

She stopped suddenly as she got a good look at Draco, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Wow, Draco," she said flirtingly, "don't you look dashing this morning."

Draco was beginning to experience that smug, haughty feeling he got whenever people were fawning over him.

"Thank you, ladies," he said, silently wondering if it was an accurate term for Millicent. "I try."

He waited for Blaise, posing for Pansy and Millicent's benefit. She finally came into the common room, tossing her bag over one shoulder and brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Before you say it, Pansy," she said, "I'm not done with your book yet."

Draco looked at her expectantly.

"What?" asked Blaise. "Do I have something on my face or something? Is my hair offending you? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well," said Draco exasperatedly, "what do you think?"

He got up and turned around. Blaise said nothing. He thought it might be because she was struck dumb by his beauty, but one look at her face told him this was not the case. She was just staring at him blankly.

"Blaise? A critique, please? I usually don't have to ask for your opinion, what is wrong with you today?"

"What's there to say?" she asked. "You look the same as usual."

Draco put a hand to his wounded heart, as Pansy ran up and grabbed his arm.

"Don't listen to the mean witch," she cooed. "You look fantastically handsome. You always do, of course."

He wasn't looking, but he was pretty sure Blaise was rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you look great, let's go," said Blaise impatiently, removing Draco from Pansy's clutches.

"You really think so?" he asked as they walked down the corridor to the Great Hall.

"Draco, really, all the silk looks the same to me. Pansy is an expert, and you can spot the finest fabric in a room, I'm sure, but I can't. Sorry."

"But do I look good?" Draco pressed.

"I've told you before, I won't assist your already tremendous ego by answering you when you are tenaciously fishing for compliments."

"Come on, I need an answer here!"

"You look fine, Draco, shut up."

They arrived at the Great Hall and took their seats at the Slytherin table. Blaise passed a note to Nott, who read it grimly, then nodded.

"Everything's set," Blaise whispered. "Now we wait."

Breakfast dragged by slowly. He didn't touch his food; he only watched the clock tick slowly. His stomach clenched painfully as the Great Hall began to empty.

"This is it," Blaise said under her breath, getting up and taking Draco with her. Nott was already halfway across the hall, following Seamus, who was ten feet in front of him. "Let's go."

When it happened, it happened quickly. They had just exited the Great Hall when Nott positively leapt on Seamus, landing a hard punch on the Gryffindor's jaw. Seamus staggered as girls around them began to scream.

"I don't think I want to watch," said Blaise, pushing Draco toward the scene. "Go do what we planned."

She walked away to the dungeons for Potions, their first class. Draco watched, as if in a daze, as the fight wore on.

"Where are the teachers?" Harry Potter asked.

It was a good question, one Draco didn't have the answer to. The sight of Lavender sobbing and being held back by Parvati brought him back to reality.

"Hey, stop it!" he said, running toward Nott. This had been Blaise's plan—impress Lavender by saving her boyfriend from the evil, nasty Slytherin. "Get off him, Nott!"

Nott, who was also in on Blaise's plan, growled, "Stay out of it, Malfoy."

Draco grabbed Nott by the arms and pulled him away from Seamus, who was curled up on the ground, obviously shocked and trying to minimize his injuries.

"What are you thinking?" Malfoy asked in a very convincing tone.

As if on cue, the teachers came out of the hall and immediately went into their Disciplinarian Mode.

"What in the world is going on here?" said McGonagall coldly, her eyes flashing as she took in the scene.

"Nott attacked Seamus," said Harry Potter, "and then the world came to an end."

"What, Mr. Potter, is _that_ supposed to mean?" asked McGonagall.

"I think he means that Malfoy actually tried to get Nott to stop," said Ron Weasley.

McGonagall looked taken aback.

"_What_?"

"Believe me, we're just as shocked," said Potter fervently. "I think there was something wrong with the pumpkin juice. You should probably look into that."

Draco glanced around. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were wearing matching looks of shock and confusion. The Hufflepuffs seemed to be teary; with joy or sadness, Draco couldn't tell. The Slytherins were all staring at him, angry and confused. He gulped.

"All right, off to classes," barked McGonagall. "Fifty points from Slytherin. Nott, come with me, you are going to Dumbledore for this one. That's twice in one year you've gone after Mr. Finnigan."

They marched off to the headmaster's office as the students began to clear away to their classes.

Draco felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Lavender facing him.

"I just wanted to say," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, "that I think it's really great what you did for Seamus. Thank you."

"Oh," said Draco. "Sure. He didn't do anything to Nott, and it was only fair, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Lavender. "You've really changed, Draco. For the better."

She walked away with a short wave. Draco blinked, then was forcibly reminded that his housemates were becoming progressively more murderous. He was saved by Snape, wonderful teacher that he was.

"If any of you fools are in N.E.W.T. Potions, follow me. And the rest of you had better get to your classes or I'll start taking points."

Snape took the lead as they walked to class, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws muttering among themselves.

"Did that just happen?" Potter asked Padma Patil, his Potions partner. "I'm serious. Did hell freeze over without my knowing it? Have pigs begun to fly?"

"The better question is," said Padma, looking stunned, "has Malfoy gone completely mad? He just helped a Gryffindor."

"What's next?" said Weasley. "Is he going to start befriending the Hufflepuffs?"

Hermione Granger was staring at Draco in awe. This seemed to be the general reaction from all of the students from the other Houses. The Slytherins, however, were starting to disturb him. He clearly heard Pansy say, "Malfoy had better have a good explanation for that, or I'm going to go tear all of his robes."

Much more than Draco's life was at stake here. The Slytherins clearly held nothing sacred if they were going to come after his wardrobe.

Draco slipped into a seat next to Blaise in the Potions classroom, but found he couldn't concentrate. Potions couldn't end soon enough, but even that brought problems.

Blaise walked him out of the classroom quickly, and into a nearby room, which was empty. She bit her lip, then patted Draco briskly on the arm.

"Watch your back today," she said seriously. "I get the feeling our fellow Slytherins aren't precisely pleased with you. It was stupid of me—I should have warned then beforehand."

"Blaise!" he said frantically. "What am I going to do?"

"You are going to do nothing," she said adamantly. "Leave it to me. Just be in the common room as soon as your last class ends. And really, keep an eye out. Avoidance is your best course of action until I can get all the Slytherins together."

"Blaise, this is not good."

"Just trust me, Draco," she said. "It'll work out. But I cannot stress enough how important it is that you be careful." She broke off, looking anxious. "I think it'll be best if you skip lunch today. Stay with a crowd between classes, and sit in the front row so you're under the nose of a teacher."

Draco must have still looked scared, because she smiled weakly, and said, "Well, don't be paranoid. I just want you to be cautious. Constant vigilance!"

Her last sentence was accompanied by a frighteningly accurate impersonation of Mad-Eye Moody, which did not help things. Blaise sighed.

"Do you want me to follow you around from lesson to lesson?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

He wanted this very much, but some odd sense of pride kept him from saying it.

"No, I'll be fine."

She looked at him for a long moment. "If you say so. But I want you to be alive by the end of the day. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Positive."

"Have fun in Arithmancy, then."

Draco watched her go wistfully, then, heeding her advice, kept a low profile as he went to his next class.

How he managed to keep from being killed, he did not know. When lessons ended for the day, he sneaked back to the Slytherin common room, eager to get the inevitable confrontation over with. The sight that greeted him made him drop his schoolbag in fright. The entire Slytherin population was glaring at him, all clearly enraged. This did not look good.

* * *


	10. Chapter Ten

**Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project**

Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Draco stared at his fellow Slytherins with something that felt like dread. He knew, though they weren't nearly as intelligent as he, that they were still entirely capable of coming up with creative ways to kill him. After watching one's parents perform Death Eater duties, one also learned that fine art.

He watched with apprehension as the Slytherins inched closer, scowls etched on their faces. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles. For a moment he felt betrayed, before he remembered that, having about two brain cells a piece, Crabbe and Goyle never thought on their own and merely imitated those around them.

"Have you anything to tell us, Draco?" asked Pansy, faking innocence. "Have anything you'd like to say?"

"No," said Draco, rather squeakier than usual.

"Really?" said Pansy. "That's not the answer I was looking for. Now, tell us all what your little display of House disloyalty was all about this morning, or the robes get it!"

With that, she whipped a pair of his favorite velvet robes from behind her back.

"You wouldn't!" Draco gasped.

"Try me," said Pansy, deadly serious. She looked exactly like a rabid dog—her pug face was screwed up in a moue of disgust, and a low growl was escaping from her lips. He would not be surprised if she started foaming at the mouth.

"You have until the count of three," said Pansy, raising her wand. "If you haven't come up with an acceptable story by then, I will make these lovely robes look just as shabby as that werewolf Lupin's were!"

Draco winced, his mind reeling. His policy was always to save himself first, buy new robes later, but it was such a shame to sit back and watch such an essential part of his wardrobe become rags.

"One," said Pansy, pressing her wand against the rich, soft fabric. "Two."

Her wand hand was quivering. Draco closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the ensuing destruction.

"Oh, stop it, Pansy," said Blaise lazily. "There was a perfectly good reason why Draco stopped Nott today."

The crowds parted theatrically to reveal Blaise, sitting calmly at a table, writing her Potions essay. Draco and his robes were saved.

"Tell us, Blaise," said Pansy, shooting an evil glare at Draco, but her voice sounding less hostile. "Go on, we're all listening."

Blaise stood majestically and approached Draco, stopping to stand beside him.

"Draco Malfoy did not commit an act of treason this morning," she said grandly. "The events that transpired today were completely staged."

Whispers broke out among the Slytherins. Blaise cleared her throat to quiet them down, then continued.

"Our friend here is by no means a traitor!" she cried. "And I want to ask you, what do a few House points lost and a man in detention really matter when they have helped further Mr. Malfoy's noble cause?"

Malcolm Baddock could be heard muttering, "A _few_ House points? We lost fifty! We're down to the triple digits in negative numbers!"

No one paid him any attention; they were all under Blaise's spell.

"You see, my comrades," she continued magnificently, "Mr. Malfoy here is the quintessential Slytherin. He embodies our wonderful traits—our cunning, our ambition, our ability can all be found tenfold in Draco.

"What I am about to tell you may be shocking. You may find yourself astonished and repugnant! 'Why,' you may ask, 'would anyone go so far for a purpose, no matter how admirable?' I tell you truthfully, it is because Draco Malfoy cares deeply about the defamation that has befallen each and every one of us! He is paving the way toward a better future for the Slytherins of tomorrow! He is invading the Gryffindors in order to learn their dirty little secrets, and by doing so, bring them down to the level at which we now find ourselves! It is time to reverse this unfair prejudice against Slytherins! With Draco Malfoy as our guide, we will once again find ourselves as the royalty of this school. We will return to our rightful thrones. The Gryffindors must suffer as we have suffered!"

She was whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

"All I ask—no, all I demand," said Blaise in a strong, clear voice, "is that you show your support for Draco by breathing a word of this to no one. If I find out that one of you has been running your mouth, and indeed, showing infidelity to your House, you will have me to deal with, which will not result in something pleasant. Now, who is with us?"

Cheers emanated from every person present. Draco was grinning widely; Blaise was alight with fervor.

"And you promise to keep quiet?" she shouted. "Slytherins' honor?"

"Slytherins' honor!" yelled the House as one.

"I thank you, fine members of Slytherin House," said Blaise, walking tranquilly back to her homework.

Draco found himself surrounded by his Housemates, all cheering and clapping him on the back. He waved to them as he made his way to his dormitory.

He hopped onto his bed, closed his curtains, and shut his eyes, trying to recover from the emotional upheaval of the day. He had gone from nervous to exhilarated to frightened in the space of several hours, and it had been draining. He felt a sense of relief and elation at the way the Slytherins had changed their minds and rallied around him, but it was deadened slightly by his sheer exhaustion.

What he wanted to do now was relax, and possibly take a nap. As was becoming usual these days, however, he got exactly the opposite. He groaned inwardly as he heard the dormitory door open. He cursed whatever fool was disturbing his peace. Couldn't they see he wanted to be by himself?

"Draco?" Blaise called softly.

"What?" he said.

She opened his curtains just enough to poke her head in.

"Hey," she said, "are you all right?"

He didn't answer.

Sighing, she opened the curtains the whole way, then sat down beside him.

"I'm really sorry," she said.

He made a vague noise, not knowing what she was talking about.

"Draco," she said firmly, "we're going to have to talk about it at some point."

He looked up at her. He never had someone actually care like this before.

"I know you, Draco. I know you better than what is probably needed. Or natural." She gave a short little laugh. "I know something is wrong. Why else would you leave during such a perfect ego-boosting opportunity? I know you might be upset with me—"

"No I'm not," said Draco, bemused.

Blaise blinked. "You aren't upset with me?"

"No!" said Draco. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, I thought you were angry that I hadn't remembered to tell the Slytherins about what was happening with Nott and Seamus. I was angry at myself for being such an idiot, I thought you must have been, too."

"No, really Blaise, it's fine. I'm not upset with you."

"What's wrong, then?"

Draco sighed deeply.

"I'm a bit tired," he admitted. "Overwhelmed. Emotionally drained."

"Oh," said Blaise. "Well, I knew it had to be something. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well..." said Draco, "if you really wanted to..."

"Come on, Draco, I'm feeling charitable at the moment, but let's not push it."

"You could go get me another novel."

Blaise laughed. "Okay, why not. How was this one? I'll have to chat about it with Pansy and Millicent at some point."

Draco sighed dramatically. "It was lovely. Turlough died of a bad case of dragon pox, and we were left with one final scene with Siobhan, as she cried hysterically over his grave, screaming 'Why? Why couldn't he have just gone to St. Mungo's like I asked?' See, it even has good life lessons: always get to a Healer if there is even the slightest chance you'll develop a particularly malignant case and die."

"Nice," snorted Blaise.

"It is!" insisted Draco. "True love never dies, Blaise!"

Blaise looked at him, then burst into insane giggles.

"I never thought I'd hear that come from your mouth," she gasped. "Draco Malfoy believes in true love."

Draco looked at her pityingly. "If you haven't got true love, what do you have?"

Blaise smiled, then waved the book. "I'll go get you another one, Miss Malfoy."

He threw a pillow at her on her way out. Five minutes later she returned, a new book in hand.

"Pansy guaranteed that this will be a fantastic read," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Enjoy."

Draco quickly turned it over to read the back.

"Eurgh, Blaise, wait," he said, handing it back. "The hero's name is Harry."

"That'll be why Pansy likes it so much, then."

"I can't read anything where the hero's name is Harry."

"Draco, she's not going to want it back! She just gave it to me! Charm it so it says 'Draco' or something."

Draco looked at her, his mouth open slightly. He remembered that this was not dignified and quickly snapped it shut.

"Blaise," he said at last, "you are brilliant."

"So I'm told," she said with a shrug. "Glad I could be of service."

He tucked the book carefully into his drawer, smiling, then looked back at his friend.

"Blaise, I have a question."

"Ask away, Oh Glorious Leader, who will lead us out of the hate that is focused against us."

"Was that passive-aggressive?"

"It might have been."

He looked anxiously at her—was she angry at him or something? She smiled a bit.

"I'm joking, Draco. We really need to improve our communication. I thought you were upset with me when you weren't, now you think I'm mad at you when I'm not..."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell, you know," he said. "You're kind of excessively sarcastic."

"It's a gift," said Blaise lightly, leaning back against the pillows on his bed. "Go ahead, ask your questions."

"Where did you learn to give speeches like that?" said Draco. It was a skill he was hoping he'd pick up on.

"I don't know," she said, closing her eyes. "Today was the first time I tried it. The results were satisfactory."

"Do you mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that you had never done that before today?"

Blaise nodded.

"Without practice, even?"

"It was completely unrehearsed.

"Wow, Blaise, you're good! Why did you wait so long to help me out?"

She shrugged. "I would have thought that was evident. Dramatic timing, and all of that. And I like to watch you squirm."

"Blaise, how—how—how _me_ of you!"

"I knew you'd be proud."

"So, how did you detain the teachers?" Draco asked with interest.

Blaise, still leaning against the pillows with her eyes shut, smirked.

"Wrote a few letters, pulled a few strings, used my deep and varied system of connections..."

"Spit it out, woman!"

"I got Graham Pritchard to pick a generic Slytherin fight to distract the teachers. He started to heckle Rose Zeller, a Hufflepuff, as we were leaving the Hall to follow Nott. Pritchard tossed a few insults around about her family, called her some names. Typical Slytherin antics, but effective. I heard Zeller started crying and had to be taken to the hospital wing for a Calming Draught of some sort."

Draco looked at her, impressed.

"Really starting to pick the Hufflepuffs off one by one, aren't you?" he commented.

"Well, you know, they annoy me." She languidly opened an eyelid. "You should keep that in mind."

"Oh, you know you love me."

"Whatever. 'Love' is not the word I would use. 'Tolerate,' maybe, but not 'love.' "

"Keep telling yourself that, Blaise."

He plucked up his courage—he'd need it to say what was coming next.

"All right," he said. "I've been meaning to ask you, but I was too afraid of the potential answer to do it before now.... How exactly did you obtain those pictures of Nott and his girlfriend? What was her name? Delilah?"

"Dahlia," Blaise corrected with a small snort. "And it wasn't as disgusting as you might have thought. You know Colin Creevey, right?"

"Colin who?"

Blaise's eyes were still shut, but she had probably rolled them anyway.

"Draco, I worry about you. Honestly, not knowing who Creevey is. Don't you remember? He's the twerp who used to follow Potter around in our second year. He's a year behind us. He was Petrified during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. He's a Gryffindor."

"Yeah," said Draco with a grin. "I remember him. I just couldn't connect the name with a face."

"Anyway, as I was saying, I got the trick off of him. He used to put a Disillusionment Charm on his camera so he could get pictures of Potter without being found out."

"What kind of pictures?" Draco asked, horrified.

"Oh, well, apparently Creevey got in trouble for taking pictures of Gryffindor Quidditch practices, so he had to do it in secret. There was quite a black market trade for those pictures. Oliver Wood, the old Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, was quite popular. Millicent Bulstrode paid ten Galleons for one. She has it hanging on her wall. I think Pansy is trying to get her hands on a Potter."

Draco looked at her, aghast. "That is wrong on so many levels."

"It's helpful, though."

"It's helpful to have Gryffindor pictures on your wall? Blaise, you're disgusting."

"No! I meant it was helpful to use Creevey's trick. Anyway, all I had to do was Disillusion my own camera, put a Silencing Charm on it, then slip it into the room where Nott was. Easy."

Draco sat back, numb with awe and approval.

"You amaze me, Blaise," he said with reverence.

"I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," argued Draco. "Gilderoy Lockhart's hair potions are up at the top of the list."

Blaise laughed. "What is the story there, anyway?"

"With Gilderoy? Well, he was holed up in the loony bin area of St. Mungo's for several years, and even though his memory never came back properly, and he couldn't go back to his old crime-fighting self, he could follow a new, greater ambition. Hair potions are a much nobler cause, I think. He's marketed a simply terrific line, Blaise, you really must try them."

"He turned out to be a fraud though, didn't he?" Blaise asked. "All that stuff in his books was all things other people did, right?"

"Does that really matter though?" Draco said. "When you think of what he's doing now... I just don't know where I'd be without his products..." He trailed off, feeling slightly teary. Blaise looked like she was trying to keep from giggling.

"Okay, I have a question for _you_, now," said Blaise, changing the subject. "What happened after I left you this morning? How did our plan go?"

"Went off without a hitch," said Draco. "I have a hidden talent, Blaise. I am a fantastic actor. I'm so wonderful, I could think about trying it for a career. I—"

Blaise cut him off.

"What happened with Lavender, you dolt?"

"Oh. She approached me, said thank you for helping halt the killing of her Irish boyfriend, said I'd really changed..."

"So that's good, right?" said Blaise. "We're getting closer."

"Yeah, I think so," said Draco. "And now with the Slytherins where we need them, we're in a perfect position. We can go in for the kill."

They sat in silence for a moment, each absorbed in individual thoughts.

"We make a good team, don't you think, Blaise?"

She paused, then smiled. "We really do, don't we?"

* * *

Thank you, a million times over, to everyone that has reviewed.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project

Chapter Eleven

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

A tangible sense of House unity had overtaken the Slytherins. Banding together under a common goal and with the leadership of Draco Malfoy, the Housemates were living in a harmony they had never known. They had all helped each other out before, of course, as one of the earliest lessons a Slytherin learned was to stick together. Whenever someone was in need, another member of the House could always be found to help. Despite this bond, however, peace and rapport were two things that were rarely found in their dungeons. Slytherins loved a good drama, and they delivered it whenever they could.

They were all feeling the change. Not a single squabble broke out among them. They were contented, at least for the moment, to enjoy the friendship they had with one another, and to do what they did best—plot to bring the enemy down.

Draco, unsurprisingly, was their hero. He was their leader and the face of their cause. Blaise was held in very high regards, as well. Even Theodore Nott was being hailed for his 'self-sacrifice.' Draco was tempted to spread vicious gossip about Nott and his Hufflepuff girlfriend, but Blaise forbade it. She had put Nott under her special protection, and as she phrased it, "Theo, you and your sweetheart can write love letters until you both die of sappiness. I'll see to it that no one will ever find out."

As was usual, however, there was a dark spot on his otherwise luminescent horizon. A part of him felt bad that he was essentially feeding his Housemates a falsity. It was an extraordinarily tiny part of him, but it was there nonetheless. Yes, it was one of Draco's plans to drag Gryffindor House through the mud and tarnish their reputations, but it wasn't as much of a priority to him as Blaise had made it seem. When he confided this to her, she merely smiled.

"Well, Draco," she said, "I have to commend you—this way of thinking will make your Gryffindor infiltration much easier."

"Are you saying I think like a Gryffindor?"

She folded her arms.

"Draco, you're arguing ethics. Is that something a Slytherin does?"

Draco looked at her, dismayed.

"Good Lord!" he cried. "What am I becoming?"

"No, no, this is good," Blaise insisted. "Though I must admit that the fact that you're feeling remorse about anything, particularly lying, is sort of staggering."

She urged him to forget his conscience for the moment (not a hard task, to be entirely truthful), and remember what he had in front of him. He had to admit things were looking wonderful now that his House was on his side. Besides, their strange brand of enthusiasm was infectious. Every time Draco had even the slightest bit of Gryffindor interaction, the Slytherins practically went into fits of rapture.

The interaction was becoming almost disturbingly frequent. Lavender in particular was going out of her way to talk to Draco, and to his profound surprise, other Gryffindors were following suit. Parvati, though she still surveyed him with suspicion, had expressed thanks (not to mention thorough bewilderment) for Draco's behavior handling the fight Theodore Nott had picked with Seamus. The insufferable Irishman's best friend, Dean Thomas, had also approached Draco with words of gratitude. But perhaps the most surprising of all was the attention Draco was now getting from Seamus himself. It was as if the torture he had given the Gryffindors in years of yore was now long forgotten. Seamus was almost absurdly appreciative of Draco's heroic actions.

"You saved my life," he said earnestly. "I'm indebted to you, Draco. I don't know how I'll ever repay you!"

"Oh, it was nothing," Draco said breezily, though this answer was apparently, in Lavender's words, both 'humble and noble,' and brought him even more Gryffindor recognition.

Through some bizarre shift in perception, Draco was now being hailed as something of a hero in the eyes of many Gryffindors—something Harry Potter found intolerable.

"I can't believe you!" he shrieked when Seamus and Dean returned to the Gryffindor table one day at lunch. They had just come from visiting Draco. The social call had been quite beneficial to Draco, who had received a slice of pie from Dean and a Ballycastle Bats badge from Seamus. "Malfoy is our enemy! He's been our enemy since day one! Just because he lost his mind for a moment doesn't make him a good person!"

"Calm down, Harry," said Parvati soothingly. "You're going to give yourself a coronary."

Blaise, who had been listening to the exchange with a malicious glint in her eye, sauntered over to the Gryffindor table.

"It's all right, Harry," she cooed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "I'll make it better."

Potter's eyes went wider than Draco had ever seen them. It was as if Blaise was really the Dark Lord, coming for his soul, instead of a slightly diminutive schoolgirl. He stiffened noticeably and shrugged off her arm as his Gryffindor peers stifled sniggers at his reaction. By now, Potter looked apoplectic with rage.

Blaise returned to the Slytherin table, collecting friendly back slaps and words of praise as she went. Draco, however, was not amused.

"What is your Potter preoccupation?" he snapped.

"Ah," Blaise said. "You must be unusually angry to be using alliteration."

"This isn't a joke, Blaise. You have some sick fascination with that boy."

"Once again, Draco, I must point out that for six years you did the same thing."

"I did many things, but I never once cooed in Potter's ear."

"Which is a good thing, because you'd never live it down. And you know what I meant."

Draco stabbed at his meal with unnecessary vehemence.

"Oh come on," Blaise said. "The opportunity was too good to miss."

Draco merely gave a righteous sniff.

"I don't have time for your frenzies, you know," said Blaise loftily.

"I am not in a frenzy."

Blaise looked at him, biting the inside of her cheek. She wore that infuriating 'trying to keep from laughing' look again.

"Really, though!" said Draco. "Why must you do things like that?"

"It's fun," said Blaise simply. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," said Draco moodily. "Nothing. I have no problem whatsoever."

"Did you run out of shampoo or something? Did you have to borrow Goyle's?"

"No," said Draco.

"Did Pansy try sitting on your lap again?"

"Thank the heavens, she did not."

"I'm not going to wheedle any longer then," she said unconcernedly. "If you're going to be stubborn, so be it."

"If you must know," said Draco irritably, "my character died."

Blaise looked at him blankly.

"Your _what_?"

Draco heaved a long-suffering sigh. "My character, remember? In the book you borrowed from Pansy? The character that was originally named Harry and you said to just charm his name to read 'Draco' from now on?"

Blaise nodded in comprehension, then laughed.

"Guess you shouldn't have switched the names around then."

"It was a rather stupid suggestion, actually," glowered Draco.

Blaise laughed some more, then turned to talk to Nott.

Draco ate the remainder of his meal in what he thought was a dignified silence.

They had the rest of the day off to do as they pleased. Blaise informed him that she was going to finish her homework, and she sidled off to somewhere; he presumed she was going to the common room. He didn't have any plans, so he thought he'd go to the library to finish his reading—he wanted a new, less gruesome book from Pansy.

He was disrupted though, when, upon entering the library, a group of Gryffindors waved him over to where they were sitting. Seamus and Lavender in particular were looking thrilled. Dean looked vaguely intrigued and Parvati kept shooting worried looks at Potter, who was sitting beside her. Potter was scowling at his parchment. Ron Weasley, who was sitting beside him, was torn between trying to calm his best friend down and arguing with the bushy-headed know-it-all Granger.

"Over here, Draco!" whispered Seamus. "Come on, we'll make room!"

He shoved Dean off his chair and offered it to Draco. Draco accepted it with a small smile at Lavender. Dean had to get a chair from the other side of the library.

"What do you want?" Potter asked suddenly.

"Nothing," said Draco innocently.

"We invited him, Harry!" Lavender said angrily. "Stop being rude."

"Oh, sure, everyone tell _me_ to stop being rude!" Harry said hotly. "Never mind that the stupid git who you're currently befriending has been rude to every single one of you since first year!"

"Harry, you need to be careful," said Granger in her annoyingly superior way. "All this anger can only lead to bad things, you know."

"Now _you're_ on his side?" Potter said somewhat shrilly. "What is wrong with you people?"

"_I'm_ not on his side, Harry," said Weasley defensively. "_I_ wouldn't do that to you, mate." He glared at Granger.

"Honestly Ron, just because I'm not telling Malfoy to return to his evil lair does not mean that I'm betraying Harry!"

"Well, you'd think that after all the times he's called you a...you know..."

"A Mudblood?" Draco supplied helpfully.

Parvati, Seamus, and Dean gasped.

"I told you so!" said Harry. "I told you! What did I say? He's evil!"

Weasley now had his wand at Draco's neck.

"I was only giving you the word!" Draco protested. "I didn't mean anything by it!"

"You shouldn't have said it in the first place," growled Parvati.

"I'm sorry!" said Draco.

"See, he's sorry Hermione!" said Lavender. "Draco's changed!"

Potter and Weasley didn't look as if they believed it, but Granger surprised them all.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "He didn't say it meanly, anyway."

Potter returned to pouting at his parchment, and Weasley turned to gape at Granger.

"What are you saying?" he demanded.

"I'm saying to drop it," she said coolly.

"Hermione, he called you that name again!"

"I can look after myself, Ron! Could you just stop it?"

"I can't believe you're just going to let him get away with it!"

"Oh, shut up!" chorused the other Gryffindors. Weasley and Granger shut their mouths and returned to their work. After a few minutes of uneasy quiet, Potter looked at Draco expectantly. Draco met the short boy's gaze, his eyebrows raised.

"Well?" said Potter impatiently, tapping his foot.

"Well what?" Draco asked, confused.

"Aren't you going to ritually sacrifice one of us?" Potter said, throwing his arms in the air.

"Why, do you want me to?" Draco said with a smirk.

Potter stomped off in a huff, followed closely by his minions, Weasley and Granger.

"He's got a bit of a problem, doesn't he?" Draco said conversationally. Lavender and Seamus nodded in reluctant agreement. Dean looked tempted to say something, but stopped himself. Parvati, however, gave Draco a withering glare.

"Yeah, Harry has a problem," she said. "That whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thing, you know." She made it sound as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Really, though," said Draco, "you'd think he'd have a better attitude."

"And you are the virtuous model upon which he should be replicating himself, right?" said Parvati with a short laugh. She stopped abruptly when she realized that the entire table was staring at her, their mouths slightly open.

"What?" she snapped.

"Parvati," said Lavender slowly, "are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"That sentence!"

Parvati looked puzzled for a moment, before shooting them all a look of venomous exasperation.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "Just because my sister's in Ravenclaw and I'm not, and just because I'm a little giggly, that doesn't mean I can't say bigger words!"

"If you say so," said Dean. Parvati looked at him for a second, then shoved him off his chair. She settled back over her Divination homework, seeming satisfied with herself.

They slipped into another uncomfortable silence. Draco realized with a jolt that he looked very odd just sitting there staring, and hurried to take his schoolwork from his bag. He removed his quill and a bottle of ink, then feigned work on his Transfiguration essay. He wrote his name neatly at the top of his parchment, embellishing it unnecessarily. It kept his hands busy while he thought.

It was amazing what a difference a couple of days could make. He would have never imagined, this time last week, that he would be sitting in an almost completely friendly environment amongst his former enemies. Sure, Parvati still didn't seem to like him very much, but Dean was politely willing to accept Draco's personality modification, and of course Seamus and Lavender were practically bending over backwards to do Draco's bidding. He found it enormously astonishing that he was very close to Step Two of his Disownment Project: Befriending the Gryffindors. It was a relief to know that some of his hard work was starting to pay off. Lavender kept 'accidentally' bumping into his foot under the table, and Seamus asked every five minutes whether there was something he could do for him.

Draco wondered if he was suffering from sort of depression. He was almost sad to have to put his spying days behind him, which was a crazy thing to be upset about. Besides, he reminded himself, his spying was not _really_ done. He still had many things to find out. His new status with the Gryffindors was an important part of his plans, and would enable him to try on a new persona: that of the undercover agent. It would be a delightful challenge pretending to be reformed. He would have to convince his enemies that he was a changed man, and that he now wanted to count himself among their numbers. He could already anticipate the sheer adrenaline rush this arduous task would bring, and he couldn't wait to get started. Just wait until those Gryffindors really started opening up to him. He'd dissect their every move to discover their flaws and weaknesses. He'd painstakingly record their quirks and idiosyncrasies until he was confident that he knew them like the back of his hand. He'd let the word slip to his father that he'd gone soft and was joining the opposite side. Lucius would go into a rage and, if all went well, would disown him immediately.

And when he was ready, Draco would strike. He'd put his knowledge to use and bring them all down—his father, the Gryffindors, even that moron Voldemort—as he gained the power to break through by himself and become his own Dark Lord.

Yet, there was a part of him that was frightened by the prospect of doing it alone. He'd miss Blaise's company. As useful as she'd been when they had to stay hidden, she couldn't be of very much help when he went undercover.

"Er, Draco?" Seamus asked.

Draco jumped. He had been lost in his thoughts and hadn't noticed what was going on around him.

"Yes, Seamus?"

"Could I have a word with you? Outside of the library?"

"Sure," said Draco. He carefully put his books in his bag and walked to the doors with Seamus. Once they had entered the corridor, Seamus turned to look at him, an odd sort of look on his face.

"I think you know what this is about," he said formally. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was steady and determined.

"Um, actually, I don't," said Draco, utterly confused as to where this conversation was going.

Seamus was silent for a moment, as if he were struggling to find the correct words.

"I want to talk to you about Lavender," he said finally.

* * *


	12. Chapter Twelve

* * *

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project

Chapter Twelve

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Draco stared at the sandy-haired boy before him, his mind whirring. He wanted to say something, anything, to fill the uncomfortable hush that now hung between the two of them.

"You what?" he asked, trying and miraculously succeeding in keeping his voice from doing something embarrassing and unMalfoy-like. He was rather proud of himself, in spite of his heart now thumping distractedly in his chest.

"I want to talk to you about Lavender," Seamus repeated.

There were still so many thoughts running through Draco's head that, for a minute, he could not think clearly. It was only for a minute, though, and soon he was his usual self again, trying to figure out the best way to settle the situation.

As far as Draco could tell, he had three options. One, he could take the hostile, defensive route and tell Seamus frankly that if he, Draco Malfoy, wanted Lavender, he would stop playing nice and just take her. Two, he could play off of Seamus's newfound respect of him by admitting that he liked Lavender, but because of his recently acquired conscience, he would never do anything about it. Or three, he could just deny it to his dying day.

_What am I going to do?_ Draco kept repeating in his mind, lapsing back into the chaotic state it had been in before. _What am I going to do, what am I going to do, what am I going to do? ... Hey, wait!_

He had interrupted his inner recitation for a mental head slap to remind himself of the most important fact of all: he was Draco Malfoy. He could handle this Irish half-breed, and if need be, he was most certain he could take him down. Anything Nott could do, he could do better, after all.

"What _about_ Lavender?" Draco asked guardedly. He was prepared to fight for his woman—or, in this case, his tool for world domination.

Seamus seemed to be picking his words carefully. Draco heartily wished he would get on with it—the tension was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

"Well, you see..." Seamus said, buying time.

"Yes," Draco prodded in what he hoped was a gentle, encouraging manner. Judging from the look the Gryffindor was now giving him, he hadn't accomplished that particular tone.

"Oh, I should just say it," Seamus said. "Draco, I know you like Lavender. In more than a friendly way, I mean. And I want you to know that it's okay."

"_What_?!" That was not what he had expected. He had anticipated 'Keep away from my girlfriend!' or 'Don't look at Lavender again or I'll curse you into next year!' He would never have counted on such a passive statement from a man whose girlfriend was in danger of being stolen away by the most devastatingly gorgeous guy in school.

Seamus sighed in a defeated sort of way. "Listen, Draco, let's stop playing dumb, I can see that you like her. The way you look at her gives it away." He got a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. "I mean, who _wouldn't_ like her? She's beautiful and funny and wonderful. She is really awesome at Divination, she's a great dancer, and she laughs at my jokes. Yeah, I know she's not exactly _all up here_—" Seamus raised his eyebrows in a suggestive way, tapping the side of his head— "but she really is great, and I know what you see in her. I mean, I feel the same way."

Draco wondered if it was physically possible to go numb with shock. His bets were on yes, as he seemed to be doing just that. It was not a comfortable condition to be in.

"I take that look on your face to mean that you do like her, then," said Seamus.

"What look on my face?"

"That deer caught in the headlights look."

"I do not look like a deer caught in the headlights. I would never look that despicable."

Seamus laughed. "You honestly did."

"I won't believe it."

"Suit yourself."

Draco shrugged.

"Come on Draco, you like her, right?"

"Well..." There wasn't any point in prolonging his so-called 'denial.'

"Yeah, Seamus," he sighed theatrically. "I really do."

Seamus looked satisfied. "I could tell."

The Gryffindor boy now seemed to be having definite trouble meeting Draco's eye.

"I have an offer to make you," said Seamus. "And it might sound weird, but you're a Slytherin, so I'm sure it's not _too_ weird. Not with all the rumors of the stuff that goes on in the dungeons... anyway. Draco, what—what would you—what would you think about being Lavender's new boyfriend?" He said the last part very quickly.

Draco couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.

"Oh, good one, Seamus!"

Seamus blinked, looking perplexed.

"I wasn't joking."

Draco gave a particularly loud giggle. "Oh, sure, you're not joking. Okay. I'll play along."

"Draco, I swear to you that this is not a trick."

He was so solemn that Draco couldn't help but believe him, which made the situation about ten times more confusing.

"This is really hard for me," said Seamus, sounding a bit as if he were smothering down tears, "because I really love Lavender. And she means so much to me. But I've realized that I can't protect her, and that she would be much better off with you."

Draco finally snapped out of his stupor long enough to choke out a completely flabbergasted, "Excuse me?"

Seamus swallowed hard.

"You could take care of her. I can't even protect myself from the stinking Slytherins. No offense."

"None taken," Draco said, still bemused.

"And you could provide for her. And, well, now you're so _nice_. You saved me from Nott, and if you'd do that for me, you'd definitely do it for such a fantastic girl like Lavender. Right?"

"Of course I would!"

"I know." Seamus paused. "And that's why I'm going to break things off with Lavender tonight. She'll be okay, I think. I'm not sure that she really likes me as much as I like her. And you can ask her out, and everything will be fine. I know she really likes you. She always talks about you and everything. I wish you two the very best."

Draco was completely and utterly bewildered.

"That's it?" he asked. "That's all you're saying? 'Here, have my girlfriend, she's yours for the taking'?"

"Well," Seamus said impatiently, "no Draco, because she's not anyone's for the taking. She is a lovely young lady, and I am not giving her out like she's my property, or something! Good Lord, what do you Slytherins _do_ downstairs? I'm merely giving you the opportunity to make a move."

"It still makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense!" Seamus said testily.

"If you say so."

"I do say so!"

Seamus's face was turning red and he seemed to be getting slightly on the insane side.

"Well," said Draco. "Er—thanks, then."

"You'd better take care of her, Draco."

"I will."

"Okay." Seamus looked suddenly embarrassed. "That's that, then. See you later, Draco."

And with that, he turned and walked back into the library. Draco was left standing alone in the corridor with only his very baffled thoughts for company. His seclusion did not last long, however.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ about?" asked Blaise, looking about as surprised as he felt.

"Blaise! Where did you come from?"

"I was hiding."

Draco looked around the hallway.

"Where, exactly, would that have been? There is nowhere to hide here."

"That's what you think," murmured Blaise. "I was watching you in the library, and when you left with Finnigan, I knew I had to follow you. How I did it is not important. Let's talk about what really _is_ important. Is Finnigan intoxicated or something? Surely Gryffindor chivalry cannot extend this far!"

"Am I dreaming?" Draco said. "I mean... well, you saw it. Why would he just stand back and allow me to go after Lavender? Of course, he probably realizes that when you compare the two of us, I am the obvious choice for prime boyfriend material, and he simply doesn't have a chance against me, but still."

All of a sudden, Blaise started laughing.

"Can you even believe this?" she said. "After all that time, and all of that work, it comes down to a few minutes in the hallway with a crazily noble Gryffindor. It's almost anticlimactic."

They began walking toward the Slytherin common rooms.

"Personally," said Draco, "I'm glad all the Lavender chasing is over. Now comes the easy part—making her fall for me."

"You astound me with your modesty, you really do."

"Oh, come on, you know she obviously has a thing for me. It'll be no problem wooing her, and since those extremely odd Gryffindors don't hate me anymore, it looks like all the real struggles are over."

"Don't get too arrogant," Blaise scolded. "You don't want to be lulled into a false sense of security. There could still be problems, you know."

"You worry too much, Blaise."

"I'm just thinking ahead."

"Just revel in the victory. Lavender's mine!"

He laughed maniacally. Blaise stared, then shook her head.

"Come on, I've got Transfiguration homework."

"So do I," Draco groaned. "We can work on it together."

"If by working on it together you mean cheating off of me, you can think again."

"Why would I mean that?" Draco said innocently. "I always do my own work. It's the only way I can assure it will be done correctly."

Blaise looked as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, she led Draco down the corridor, then stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Draco asked, but Blaise hissed at him to shut up. The next second, he realized why.

Peeves the poltergeist was turning the corner, dropping a bag of dungbombs every meter or so. Draco's nose wrinkled as he smelled Peeves's latest act of destruction.

"Why, hello Peeves," said Blaise. Peeves threw a dungbomb at her, which she easily deflected with her wand. Peeves narrowed his eyes, sensing a challenge. Draco was saved the ensuing consequences by a silvery white ghost. The sight of it made Peeves's eyes widen, and with a strange little squeak, the poltergeist tore away toward the Great Hall.

Blaise looked at the Bloody Baron with slight disappointment.

"Thanks," she said, disgruntled. "I've been waiting for a good showdown with Peeves for weeks."

The Baron didn't answer, but followed her and Draco into the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherin ghost very rarely made an appearance in their common room, something for which its residents were grateful. On those unusual occasions in which the ghost did visit, almost no Slytherins could be found in the immediate vicinity. Draco looked around and saw that the tradition was still very much alive—as soon as they'd entered, the entire house rushed to their dormitories, and within a minute he and Blaise were the only breathing creatures in sight.

"Well, just make yourself at home, then," Blaise said to the Bloody Baron, giving an exaggerated bow before sitting down in her chair and starting work on her essay. Draco marveled at her seeming lack of reaction. The horrible, gaunt ghost even gave Snape the creeps.

"How was your day?" Draco asked, attempting conversation with the Baron. "Good of you to help us out back there."

The Baron just looked at him.

Draco tapped his fingers on the table awkwardly, looking everywhere but at the ghost. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Baron still staring at him. Reluctantly, Draco turned once again to look at him.

"So," he said, "is there a Bloody Baroness?"

The Bloody Baron raised his eyebrows at him. Draco swallowed audibly.

"You're Malfoy, right?"

Draco jumped slightly, and even Blaise looked up from her parchment. No one had ever heard the Slytherin ghost talk before.

"Uh, yeah, that's me," Draco stammered.

The Baron looked at him for awhile before speaking again.

"You look just like your father, you know."

"Uh," said Draco, not quite sure what to say to that. "Well, I'm not exactly on good terms with my father."

"So I've heard," rumbled the ghost. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

By now, Blaise had set down her quill and was looking intently at the Bloody Baron.

"Why do you care about Lucius Malfoy?" said Blaise suspiciously.

"I don't," said the Bloody Baron. "I care about Draco Malfoy's plan."

There was a ringing silence.

"How do you know about the plan?" Draco finally squeaked.

"Everyone knows about your plan," the ghost said, exasperated.

"What do you mean, everyone knows?" Blaise asked with concern.

"Well obviously not everyone," said the Baron with an eye roll that put Blaise to shame. "However—Zabini, isn't it? I am a Slytherin, and every Slytherin in this school knows of Malfoy's plan. Except for Snape, but then Snape can't see past his own colossal nose, can he?"

Draco and Blaise shrugged.

"I wanted to warn you, Malfoy," the Bloody Baron said in a low voice, "this plan of yours can only lead to bad things. You should abandon it. The consequences will almost certainly be costly, if not fatal."

"Fatal? How can it be fatal? What do you mean by that?" Draco demanded.

"Your little project just may end up alienating those people who you rely on most," the Baron went on.

"People can be sacrificed for the greater good," said Draco defiantly.

"You may think differently later down the line, Malfoy."

"No, I don't think so," Draco said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "As long as I get the power, I'm fine with alienation."

"Malfoy, I think you should rethink this," the ghost admonished. "I predict terrible things in your future. Things will not go how you want them to, and you will bring shame upon your name!"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"And how do I know you aren't making this all up?"

"I know things," the Baron said simply.

"Ah, I see," scoffed Draco. "Well forgive me if I put very little trust in the ravings of a mad, antisocial dead person."

"We shall see," the ghost said. "We shall see."

After exchanging a confused glance, Blaise went back to her essay, while Draco concentrated on straightening his tie, then his robes. He ran a quick hand through his hair and rearranged the books in his bag. When he looked back up a few minutes later, the Slytherin ghost was still gazing at him.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake!" Draco cried. "I can make my own decisions! I don't know what you're playing at, with all of your vague warnings and spookiness, but you're not changing my mind! I'll see this through if it kills me!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said the ghost, drifting away from the table and out of the common room.

Draco watched him go, then turned to Blaise.

"What do you think he was talking about?"

"I think he's a lunatic," Blaise said, dipping her quill in a small pot of ink, still writing away. "Don't listen to him, Draco."

But Draco could not help but think back on what the Bloody Baron had said. It hadn't made any sense. The ghost couldn't possibly be able to predict the future, could he?

Blaise put away her essay, then looked at Draco seriously.

"Just forget about it," she said. "We have bigger things to worry about than the ranting of a gory ghost. Lavender will be a free woman by tomorrow. You have a big day ahead of you."

Truer words were never spoken.

* * *


	13. Chapter Thirteen

* * *

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project

Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Draco barely slept that night. He tossed and turned, and when he did drift off, though it was a rare occurrence, his sleep was uneasy. He was haunted by horrible dreams, mostly of Lavender rejecting him in a loud, embarrassing manner, but sometimes they featured the Bloody Baron, who cackled wildly about Draco being a failure and a shame to Slytherin. After a particularly nasty nightmare in which both Lavender and the Baron made an appearance, Draco woke in a cold sweat and decided that sleep would not be possible. He sat upright in his bed, grabbing a book that Blaise had borrowed for him, and stared unseeingly at the words on the page.

Staying awake was almost as bad as the nightmares. At least when he was dreaming he wasn't torturing over every detail of the events that would transpire in the very near future. After a solid hour of nervous deliberation, he could take no more. Placing his book back in his bag, he stood, stretched, then headed directly for his wardrobe. Instead of worrying, he could make himself useful.

He picked out one of his finest set of robes and laid them carefully on his bed, meticulously smoothing out any creases or wrinkles. He took a quick shower, grateful for the early morning hours that kept his housemates away. After dressing and fixing his hair, he grabbed his bag and went down to the common room. He sat in a chair by the fire, his knees jiggling with nervous energy. He took his novel out again, and this time he was able to devote a small bit of concentration to it, though reading the words and understanding them were two very different things.

"Blaise, finally."

Blaise had just appeared in the common room, combing her hair with her fingers and checking over a piece of parchment that Draco assumed was her Transfiguration essay. Draco stood up so quickly that his chair fell over, and he all but sprinted over to Blaise. He snatched at her wrist and a tearing sound permeated the relative quiet of the room. Blaise looked down at her ripped parchment and rolled her eyes, grabbing Draco's wand from his left hand and repairing the paper with a flick of her fingers. Draco grabbed her arm more gently this time and dragged her over to the table he had just vacated. Blaise, to his profound surprise, went quietly. She flopped down into a chair, smirking lightly as Draco bent to pick up his own from the cold stone floor.

"Were you really in that much of a hurry that my homework had to suffer?" Blaise inquired as Draco sat back down in his chair.

"Who are you, Granger?" Draco asked. "It's Saturday! Leave the homework upstairs where it belongs!"

"What is _your_ problem?"

"I haven't slept, I can't think, my stomach feels as if it's been tied in a million knots, and there's this screechy little voice in my head screaming, 'If you mess this up, it's over! If Lavender doesn't agree to go out with you, you fail!' "

Blaise was quiet for a moment, then, shaking her head, she gave a short little laugh.

"I have decided, Draco, that you must have selective confidence. You go on and on about how great you are, but when it comes tome to actually put yourself out there and leave your comfort zone, you're just as insecure as the rest of us."

Draco was about to protest feebly, but Blaise interrupted.

"It makes you seem…well, normal. Less insane, and I say that in a complimentary way. It's actually kind of endearing."

Draco raised his eyebrows impertinently, but was secretly pleased that she thought so. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I personally don't think you should worry," Blaise said softly, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. "Lavender obviously adores you, and with Seamus out of the way, your path is clear. She'll have no more moral objections to dating you."

"It's the stupid Bloody Baron's fault!" Draco said. "He made me start doubting things!"

"The Baron is too busy keeping an eye on Peeves to know what he's talking about. Just remember all the time we spent spying on Lavender this year. She likes you, and she's your ticket to becoming the next tyrant."

Draco knew logically that she was right, and that all evidence pointed to Lavender liking him desperately. However, plain, simple logic often has an annoying habit of deserting you when you need it most, and even when the desperate man is confronted with it, it doesn't always take immediate hold. Therefore, even with Blaise's assurances and hours upon hours of evidence of Lavender's fondness for him, he was still unwaveringly convinced that his doom was approaching.

A half an hour later, Slytherin students began filtering into the room. Draco marveled at their ability to act so carefree, every one of them ignorant of the fact that the hour of Draco's destruction was getting closer by the moment.

"Let's go," Blaise murmured. "Well—actually, I think we should arrive separately. You don't want Lavender to see you with another woman."

"Blaise, she's seen me with you the entire year."

"It's different now, Draco," Blaise explained patiently. "She's back on the market. She was tied down with Seamus before, so my traveling around with you wasn't important. She couldn't have you anyway, so why did it matter that I was there? It may have made her jealous, I don't know, but she's a Gryffindor and couldn't dump Seamus for you."

"You think Lavender thinks you're my girlfriend?"

"She's rather ditzy. You may have noticed. I don't know what she thinks, but I don't really believe it's a good idea for us to be seen together so often now."

"Huh," said Draco. "Well, I guess I'll see you later, then."

"Good luck," Blaise said, standing up and leaving for the Great Hall.

Draco waited nervously at his table for another ten minutes, before grabbing his bag and walking to what could potentially be a scene of humiliation.

As he sauntered casually over to the Slytherin table, conversation at the Gryffindor section broke off completely, then built back up to a sound that resembled something like swarming bees. Every Gryffindor, from first year all the way up to seventh, looked at him with curiosity. Even McGonagall was shooting him looks. Draco would have completely enjoyed this attention on any other day, but today he was too busy trying not to run screaming from his seat. Instead of sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, as his mind was now unhelpfully telling him to do, he sat coolly in his seat, performing his nonchalant and haughty look. It never failed to get the girls squealing.

He focused his seemingly composed gaze onto Seamus, who was looking miserable.

_Good_, thought Draco. _He's broken it off with Lavender. All I have to do now is what I do best_.

He expected Lavender to look teary-eyed, or perhaps a little melancholy, but he was surprised to find her looking radiantly happy as she sat next to Parvati. Lavender kept glancing over at him and squealing, causing Parvati to roll her eyes in exasperation and turn to talk to Potter.

By the time breakfast ended, Draco's nerves were completely shot. It was hard work pretending to look unfazed, and he was afraid that the wear would start to show on his otherwise magnificent face.

"Go now," Blaise mouthed from her seat next to Pansy Parkinson.

"Where?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"Go!" Blaise whispered shrilly, pointing to the door of the Great Hall.

Draco whipped around to see Lavender skipping ecstatically out of the room.

Draco's eyes widened as he watched her go, then with a graceful leap he headed after her.

"Lavender!" he called once he was out of the Hall. Lavender was perched elegantly by the staircase, rifling through her Divination textbook.

"Oh, hi Draco!" she said, snapping her book shut hurriedly and sticking it haphazardly into her bag. "I hoped I might run into you."

"Yeah, well, here I am," Draco said stupidly. "I heard about you and Seamus."

"Oh, that," said Lavender with a bright smile. "That's actually why I wanted to see you today. And Professor Trelawney said it was a perfect time to talk to you, too. The stars are properly aligned and I probably shouldn't tell you this, but my horoscope said wonderful things were in my future."

Draco understood very little of this, but nodded and smiled as though he was enthralled.

"So everything is looking wonderful, except for a pesky little problem with the current positions Mars is in… anyway, that's unimportant. Would you like to go into Hogsmeade with me today?"

Draco looked at her for a moment. He had obviously been asked out by many girls throughout the years, but he was expecting to have to grovel at her feet. The fact that this was incredibly unlikely, given the girl's obvious feelings for him, did not register in his frantic mind.

"Oh, well, yes, of course, I'd like that very much, I was hoping to ask you myself, I'm glad you want to go, when would you like to meet, where should I pick you up?" Draco rambled.

Lavender giggled.

"Meet me by Gryffindor Tower at about noon. Is that all right?"

"Perfect, can't wait, I'll be there, don't worry, see you then."

Lavender twittered again, then gave him a flirty wave and headed up the stairs. Draco slumped down onto the steps, his head in his hands, breathing irregularly.

That was much easier than he'd anticipated, and he was greatly relieved that he wasn't the one who had to do the asking. His heart was thumping quickly and his mind was whirring. As harrowing as this one task had been, the hard stuff was yet to come. He actually had to take Lavender out, and not only did he have to charm her, he had to make her housemates love him as well.

"How'd it go?"

"Blaise! Why in the name of Slytherin do you keep sneaking up on me! Just walk up to me like a normal person, okay?"

Blaise shrugged.

"Whatever you say. How'd it go with Lavender, you dolt?"

"You mean you weren't spying on me? How unlike you."

"I thought that perhaps you'd like your privacy, so I gave you some space. You didn't blow it did you? I mean, I have to admit, you have me scared right now. You don't exactly look triumphant."

"She asked _me_ out."

Blaise looked impressed.

"Though asking _you_ out can hardly be called an act of great intelligence, I suppose I underestimated her Gryffindor bravery. Good for her. It was more than you could do, after all."

Draco gave a wail.

"I couldn't even ask a girl out! My palms got all sweaty and I kept _talking_! But I wasn't talking wittily—I was practically incoherent! Compared to me, Lavender sounded like—like—_Granger_! _I_ don't have girl troubles! _I_ do not have problems in that area! I've never been nervous! What's happening to me?"

Blaise sat down next to him and threw an arm around his shoulder. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought she looked a bit remorseful for her last quip.

"Relax Draco, this isn't like asking those other girls out. This was a step in your formidable plan. You weren't scared about Lavender, why would you be? You were afraid to have come this far only to ruin things. But now everything is falling in place."

Draco didn't feel any better, but he decided not to say anything more on the matter of Lavender.

"Blaise?" he said, throwing caution to the wind. "I've been thinking about the Bloody Baron."

"Not him again," Blaise groaned. "He's insane. Ghosts can't see the future! The Baron knows even less about the future than Trelawney, and that's saying something. Let it go. You need to think about how you're going to worm your way into the Gryffindors' good books."

"But don't you think he was trying to really warn me about something?"

"No," said Blaise with finality. "The Baron has never done anything helpful. He's made everyone's life miserable, and he was probably just adding you to his already extensive list of victims."

Draco was still worried, but didn't want to say anything.

"Are you better now?" Blaise said, only slightly sarcastically.

"Sure. Let's go get me ready."

* * *

There were only twenty minutes left until he went to meet Lavender, and Draco still wasn't ready.

"You look like Potter," said Blaise from her seat on the edge of Draco's bed.

Draco ran to the mirror and let out a cry of anguish. His beautiful blonde hair was sticking up at all angles from the many times he had run his fingers through it, frustrated.

"Hurry Blaise, we need the heavy artillery."

"The what?"

"Look under my pillow, you silly girl!"

Blaise gave him an odd look, then lifted his pillow warily. She looked at the bottle marked _Gilderoy Lockhart's Heavy Duty Hair Gel_, then at Draco, then back at the bottle.

"I am not going to say anything," she said, throwing it to him.

"Good, it'll make a nice change."

He expertly smoothed his hair down, then ran to his wardrobe to change his robes for what had to be the hundredth time in the last half-hour. He chose his best silk in a silvery-gray that made his eyes look positively glorious, then scrutinized his reflection.

"See, you look nice," said Blaise.

Draco knew she was trying to be helpful, but it was not the right thing to say.

"I don't want to look _nice_, I want to look ravishing!" he snapped.

Blaise looked slightly taken aback by his vehemence.

"There is no reason for you to be this nervous," she said.

"Oh, no, because the outcome of this date doesn't effect my entire future," said Draco with a contemptuous toss of his head.

"Watch it there, you'll mess your hair up again. Just relax."

"Yeah, sure Blaise, except I think you're missing one important little detail. THIS GIRL IS ESSENTIAL FOR MY PLANS! I cannot mess this up!"

"Just keep saying, 'I am hot, sexy, and beautiful.' "

He spun around to look at her.

"Do you really think that?"

"No, stupid. It's just your confidence-boosting mantra."

"Oh. Okay. I am hot, sexy, and beautiful."

"Oh, honey, you certainly are!" said the mirror.

"This isn't working," Draco said.

"For heaven's sake Draco, you're _you_! You'll be fine!"

"You're right," said Draco, trying to convince himself. "I'll be fine. I shouldn't work myself up. It's bad for my blood pressure."

"I think you'll do wonderfully."

"Are you going to be there, watching me from dark corners?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Malfoy, but I don't think so. You're ready to go out on your own."

"But what if I mess it up?"

Blaise bit her lip.

"Okay, if you think you said or did something irreparable, I'll be in the post office and you can meet me there. But I really don't think you'll need me."

The thought of having Blaise there for backup eased the butterflies that seemed to have made their home in his stomach.

"All right, thank you Blaise."

He took a deep breath.

"Well, I guess I'd better go then."

"I think that's a good idea."

He looked at his friend and accomplice, then gave a forced smile.

"Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," Blaise said with a smirk. "You won't need it, though."

"Why do those sound like famous last words?"

"Stop stalling and get your cunning self up to Gryffindor Tower."

"All right. I'm really going now."

And with that, Draco left the dungeons to go get the girl.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Draco had finally learned the real reason he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor. It wasn't because his family had been in Slytherin for ages. It wasn't because he was pure evil. It was simply because he was the world's biggest coward.

His stomach in knots, he tried for the seventh time to climb the steps that would lead him to Gryffindor Tower. He promised himself every reward he could think of. If he did it this time, he would go on a shopping spree. He'd buy new robes, new shoes, anything.

He slumped against the wall. It was no use. There was no way he could go to Hogsmeade with Lavender. He wasn't brave enough.

_Good luck. You won't need it, though._

Blaise's parting words kept running through his brain, urging him forward. He took a deep breath, and for the eighth time, attempted to ascend the stairs. Slowly, he progressed. His foot paused on the top step, but the thought of Blaise's face when she found out that he'd been too scared to pick up Lavender kept him from retreating once more. He felt jumpy, and his forehead was starting to sheen with nervous sweat; he furiously swiped the offending perspiration away, and met his next challenge.

He had made it to Gryffindor Tower, land of the noble and courageous. His lip curled at the thought of the sheer amount of heroic snobs that lurked in the near vicinity. Right in front of him was a huge portrait. He presumed that the obese woman it depicted was the guardian of the tower. He looked her over and snorted.

"Can I help you?" the portly lady asked, looking down at him, her eyebrows so far up her head they seemed to disappear into her hairline.

"Um, I'm waiting for someone," Draco said as politely as he could. It wouldn't be prudent to make enemies with one of the Gryffindor kind.

"Aren't you a Slytherin?" she said condescendingly.

"Yes," said Draco, trying to smile.

"Hmph," she said with a toss of her hair. "I don't like the colors green and silver to mar my tower."

Draco was furious. Green and silver were his best colors! He was about to retort that a woman of her size and age should not wear that shade of pink when the portrait swung open to reveal Parvati Patil.

"Oh, it's you," she said, as the Fat Lady swung back into place.

"Hello, Parvati, how are you today?" Draco said.

"Fine," said Parvati tersely. "I suppose you're waiting for Lavender?" She spat out her friend's name with disdain.

Draco didn't worry about her tone of voice. He had come prepared.

"Well, yes, that's who I came to see, but I'm glad I ran into you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a book with a glossy blue cover. Swirling, gold lettering across the front described the world of Divination that could be found within its pages. Parvati was practically salivating over it.

"I've wanted that book forever," she said longingly. "They're always sold out at Flourish and Blotts. Where did you find it?"

"Oh! This?" Draco said, feigning surprise. "I was hoping you could tell me if it's any good, but here, you take it. You obviously want it more than I do. You're the dedicated Divination student, after all."

Draco had received it as a Christmas gift from his mother, but he wasn't about to tell Parvati that. Malfoys were never supposed to re-gift, after all.

"Here," said Draco, holding the book out to her.

"No, I couldn't," said Parvati, her fingers grasping the spine lovingly. "It's yours."

Her hold wasn't loosening on the book.

"No, really Parvati," Draco insisted. "We're friends now, right? Just think of it as a gift between friends."

"Oh, I shouldn't," said Parvati, but Draco had already relinquished his grip on the book. Seeing this, Parvati clutched the book to her chest, stroking the cover lovingly.

"Wow, Draco," she breathed. "Thank you."

"No problem," said Draco, resisting the urge to smirk. Winning over Lavender's best friend seemed to have been easier than he thought it would be.

"Do you want me to get Lavender for you?" Parvati said hesitantly.

"Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you."

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all!" Parvati said, beaming at him. "It'll only take a minute."

"Well, if you're sure…" Draco began, but Parvati had already gone back into the tower. Draco caught a glimpse of a vibrantly red-and-gold room before the Fat Lady shifted back into her usual spot.

"So, you're seeing Miss Brown today, are you," said the painting, her hands on her copious hips.

"Yes. Lovely girl, isn't she?"

The Fat Lady eyed him suspiciously, but was thrown back once more as Lavender hopped into view. Her hair had been curled and hung around her face in tiny spirals. Her robes were a delicate shade of pink, much less lurid than those of the enormous portrait. She looked very pretty.

"You look nice," Draco said awkwardly, inwardly kicking himself. Nice? No woman wanted to hear she looked _nice_. What happened to his usual suave way with compliments? Lavender, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Thank you," she giggled. "You look nice, too."

Draco offered her his arm.

"To Hogsmeade?" he said.

"Let's go," she said, looping her arm through his.

* * *

Blaise peeked once more through the pink-tinted windows of Madam Puddifoot's. Despite what she had told Draco, she _was_ spying on him. He couldn't afford to not have her eye on him. If he messed things up…

Blaise didn't want to acknowledge that he seemed to be doing quite fine without her. He was speaking with his I'm-saying-something-clever smirk plastered across his face, and Lavender was lapping it up, tossing her curly head back and giggling like a lunatic. Blaise narrowed her eyes. Lavender was a shame to all girls everywhere. How ditzy could one person be?

"What are you doing?" came an accusatory voice from behind her.

Blaise jumped, whirling around to see Harry Potter staring at her mistrustfully.

"What's it to you, Potter?" she said, cursing her momentary lapse in circumspection.

"Are you _spying_ on someone?" Harry said incredulously.

"Does it _look_ like I'm spying on someone?"

"Well, yes, it does. I know you're friends with Malfoy, Zabini."

Blaise smiled coyly.

"Not really," she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. "You want to go have a coffee or something with me inside Madam Puddifoot's?"

Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"No, thank you," he said, turning on his heel and walking briskly in the opposite direction.

"I thought that would do the trick," Blaise muttered, turning back to the window. Lavender was leaning across the table and resting a manicured hand on Draco's forearm. Blaise rolled her eyes.

_Remember, it's for a good cause_, she told herself. _You have to put up with the nitwit if Draco's ever going to succeed in his project._

If there was one thing that annoyed Blaise, it was foolish girls. She brushed her bangs back from her face, and glared at her reflection in the window.

Draco was fine, she finally admitted. Blaise had bigger things to deal with.

She walked away from the shop and onto the path that lead back to Hogwarts. She winced as she passed the post office. What if Draco got into trouble? What if he needed her to get him out of a fix? She was supposed to wait for him there.

"He's a big boy," she said to herself firmly. "He's going to have to learn to cope without me eventually."

Blaise strode purposely through the crowd, only shoving one Hufflepuff as she made her way back toward the castle. She scowled straight ahead as she pulled open the heavy front doors and walked back into the school. As it was a Hogsmeade weekend, the only people around seemed to be first and second years. Blaise grinned wickedly at one of them, and the little redheaded girl quickly ran to join the throng of her fellow students. Most of the younger pupils were afraid of Slytherins, and Blaise in particular seemed to frighten them out of their wits. Blaise couldn't say she minded this.

She didn't know exactly where she was going, as she didn't know quite where the entity she was searching for would be hiding. There was only one logical place to look, however, and that was the dungeons.

Blaise quite liked the dungeons. They were a bit cold and dank, but they provided many excellent places for someone to go to be avoided. Blaise was notoriously cryptic and liked to spend time away from the hustle and bustle of the school. Therefore, she knew the majority of the dungeons like the back of her hand. She doubted that even Snape knew his way around as well as she did. The only one who could match her knowledge of the lower levels of the school was Filch, though the Weasley twins may have given her a run for her money when they were still in school.

Though Blaise, with her superior understanding of the dungeons, knew far more than the average student, she had still never run into the Bloody Baron on her own. When she had come across him, it seemed more as if he had meant to find _her_. Blaise shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Past experiences didn't matter. She may not know where the ghost resided, but she was the best equipped to make a guess. There was a room, not far from the Potions classroom, that was avoided by the rest of the school. It was down a long, dark corridor, the only light coming from a distant torch that seemed to burn infinitely. It was rumored that the passageway was filled with spiders, which at the very least kept Ron Weasley away. If Blaise's intuition was right, it was a favorite haunt of the Slytherin ghost.

She gripped her wand tightly in her hand. She wasn't afraid of spiders, or, in fact, any sort of nonmagical creature. She highly doubted that Dumbledore would allow something malignant to wander down a hallway that wasn't closed off to the school, but then again, there _had_ been a Basilisk terrorizing the school only several short years ago…

She shook her head again. She wasn't going to let her imagination frighten her into believing there was any sort of dangerous creature down that corridor. She was going down there to find something out, and that was final. She swallowed, then, wand still in hand, took her first tentative step down the corridor. She kept her gaze unwaveringly on the distant light.

It wasn't so bad, she thought. There were distinct scuttling sounds coming from the baseboards, but that wasn't any different from the Slytherin common room. She had almost turned back when she had heard what sounded uncannily like a low, rasping cackle, but instead, she determinedly pressed onward. She was almost there—only a dozen more paces before she reached the torch. She could see a web-covered door now. It was painted dark green, and tiny, emerald-encrusted serpents circled the doorknob. For a split second she thought that they were real, but realized that it was only the light from the torch making them waver like that.

She kept her eyes now on the doorknob. Horrendous scenarios were racing each other through her mind. Her hands shook as she imagined a motley assortment of monsters jumping out at her. She released a great gasp of breath as she reached out to grab the cold doorknob. She only just remembered that she could have used her wand to light up the hall. She gave a shuddering laugh, then, her heart beating wildly, she turned the knob and walked into the room beyond.

The door creaked shut behind her, sending chills down her spine. The room was dimly lit by an odd, pale green glow. She could make out the dark shapes of what seemed like furniture around her, but there was not enough light to see her surroundings clearly.

"Lumos," she murmured, and the tip of her wand blazed suddenly with a brilliant light.

Blaise's eyes widened as she looked around her. There were dusty old bookshelves lining the walls, and ancient looking chairs, covered with dust and mildew, were arranged into a circle in the middle of the room. Everything was green-hued, with silver embellishments here and there. There was a solid silver statue of Salazar Slytherin, even larger than the one in the Slytherin common room, in a far corner. But most impressive of all was the desk a few yards to her right. It, like everything else in the room, was emerald in color. The legs of the desk were swirled with silver, and more than anything it looked heavy, though she was sure 'expensive' was another word to describe it. Behind the desk sat the Bloody Baron.

The green light seemed to be coming from directly behind him. Blaise could see the light _through_ him, at least, which, mixed with the silver of his bloodstains, made him a perfect fit in the room.

"Hello, Miss Zabini," the ghost said, almost cheerfully.

"Are you writing a _letter_?" Blaise asked.

The Baron looked down at his hand, which was closed around a tall, dark green quill.

"It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" said the Baron, smiling at her.

"Ghosts can't hold things," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I know that," said the ghost. "I like to pretend, though. It writes on its own," he explained in response to her puzzled look. "Nifty little thing, isn't it? Just writes what I'm thinking… but after one's been dead for so many years, one begins to miss the simple things, like holding a quill."

Blaise nodded, willing to take his word for it.

"I suppose you're here for a reason?" said the Bloody Baron, focusing on the parchment in front of him. "I must commend you, of course, on finding me. I'm not even sure Dumbledore knows. No one has ever visited me before." He looked up at her. "In fact, you're the first to ever locate me here. Was there something in particular you needed?"

"Oh—oh, yes," said Blaise, remembering what she came for. "I wanted to talk to you about Draco Malfoy."

The Baron stopped pretending to hold his quill. He folded his ghostly arms on the top of his desk, looking interested.

"Really? Whatever about our dear Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd not say anything more to him," she said, her anger flaring. "You don't know what you almost destroyed."

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, Miss Zabini," said the Bloody Baron. He sounded sympathetic but forceful, and his words were only the slightest bit patronizing. "I know exactly what I almost destroyed, and I'll also have you know that it would probably be best if that which would have been broken would be put to an end completely."

Blaise felt the familiar spark of infuriated passion explode in her chest.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"If you say so," said the Bloody Baron, examining the still-scratching quill.

"I do say so. Now, please, just don't say anything more to him. Just forget whatever rubbish you came up with and stay out of his business," she pleaded.

That was wrong—Zabinis did not plead.

"Leave Draco alone," she demanded. "I don't care what you have to say to him. You're ruining his concentration with your silly stories. Just stop it."

"Well, if you feel that strongly about it…"

"I do."

"Fine then, Miss Zabini." The ghost paused. "I admire your courage in coming here. I will leave Mr. Malfoy alone from now on. I'll remind you, though, that I did try warning him."

Blaise didn't know how to answer this. Her fingers had just closed around the doorknob when the Bloody Baron called, "Miss Zabini?"

Blaise turned to look once more at the ghost, the odd green light illuminating him eerily.

"Yes?"

"You're welcome to visit me again sometime."

Blaise blinked, then nodded. She walked back out into the corridor, the door snapping shut behind her. The light of her wand had still not gone out, and she kept it on during the walk down the long, spooky corridor. As she turned back into the familiar parts of the dungeons and whispered "Nox," causing the light of her wand to go out at last, she was still not quite sure what had just happened.

* * *


End file.
